


Of Dust and Everlasting Stars

by CygnusRift



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2019-11-23 01:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 53
Words: 196,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CygnusRift/pseuds/CygnusRift
Summary: The time of the Elves is over. Darkness is spreading about the land. When Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien, discovers a wandering company on the borders of the Golden Wood, little does he know what lies ahead, how his path is fated to interweave with that of Annalyn, a mortal whose spirit is as resilient as he is guarded. From wary strangers, to unlikely companions, friends, and more, theirs is a story of impossible love and loss during times of monumental change.





	1. Sentinels

**Author's Note:**

> While this fanfic can be marked as both Action/Adventure and Romance, it is meant, first and foremost, to be a love story between a mortal woman and an immortal Elf. 
> 
> Inspired by both the books and the movies, this story begins in Lothlórien, near the end of the Third Age. And while I endeavour to stay true to the general feel of Middle-earth and the enduring threat of Sauron, I am not Tolkien. Certain details will differ—some by mistake, others purposely—and the timeline doesn’t quite line up. Also, this is fanfiction, so I did indulge my creative whims a bit. This story should be considered Alternate Universe.
> 
> Warning: Rated M for battles and eventual love scenes. 
> 
> For those who will read this story, I wish to thank you for taking a chance on it. It means a lot.
> 
> Kindest regards,
> 
> CygnusRift

CHAPTER I

SENTINELS

 

It was a fair autumn morning in the woods of Lothlórien, the breeze gentle and redolent as it sighed among the trees. The sky was a pale blue, the slanting rays of the sun warm as they pierced the canopy. Though all was peaceful and still, the woods were far from empty. There was a watchful presence here, always, for the world beyond was not as fair as it had once been. 

Hidden among silver branches and golden leaves, were the guardians of these woods: the Elves who called themselves Galadhrim. With keen eyes and ears, they patrolled the borders, ever on the lookout for Orcs, Wolves, and other fell creatures. They took their duties seriously, their vow a solemn one: so long as they stood guard, evil would not enter here. 

In addition to foes, the Elves of the Golden Wood also watched for outsiders—rare as they were nowadays. 

The morning waned, and all remained quiet. But as the sun rose higher in the sky, the patrol’s watchfulness turned to concern as Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien, was summoned to a nearby _talan_ with word that Men were in the area.

“Look,” his brother Rúmil indicated once they had climbed onto the wooden platform.

Their eyes trained westward, the two were joined by Orophin, their sibling and third member of their patrol. Together, they watched from afar as a group of Men made their way toward Nimrodel, a stream that ran from the foothills of the Misty Mountains down toward the River Celebrant.

With narrowed eyes, the brothers watched the group as they marched forth, seemingly oblivious to their presence. In actuality, there were two men and one maid, each of them walking alongside a horse. Their voices and footsteps carried loudly through the branches. So did the occasional laughter. _They are not cautious_ , Haldir thought. But Men seldom were. 

“Let us follow them,” Haldir said in his elven-tongue. 

Swiftly and soundlessly, the brothers made their way through the trees. Wrapped in grey cloaks, they blended seamlessly with their silvery surroundings. The intruders clearly sensed nothing amiss. Their gait remained unchanged, their gazes still fixed on the ground before them as they walked through the forest. 

As the company spoke amongst themselves, Haldir noted that their language was unlike that of the Elves. Rich it was, yet harsh. As he listened over the fluttering leaves, he thought it might be the language of Rohan. 

Maintaining her stride, the maid threw a glance at the older man who walked to her right. “I hear water,” she said in Rohirric; Haldir was now certain of it.

Indeed, he understood the language, for in addition to guarding these woods, Haldir was sometimes sent abroad to scout the enemy or gather news. Yet out of all the languages he knew, the Rohirric tongue had ever been a challenge to him. It wasn’t the words themselves—he remembered them well enough—but the sounds were difficult to master. For some reason, they always formed strangely on his tongue. 

Though in all fairness, it was long since he had spoken the language, the last time being centuries ago, during a rare visit to Edoras. Given the brevity of Men’s lives, those with whom he had treated were long-dead, but what he had found in those days was that the Lords of Rohan knew the common speech, and used it freely in their dealings with outsiders. But outside of Edoras, from West to East Emnet, such was not typically the case. For the peasants who lived and toiled in the small settlements dotting the Horse Plains were a simple folk, not well-learned. For the most part, those he had come upon spoke no language other than their own. He would not find it surprising if the same held true for these intruders.

“Water you say?” The older man paused to listen, then looked to the maid. “Ah yes, I hear it. It might be a stream. Or the Silverlode.”

The Silverlode. Pronounced thusly, the name sounded strange to Haldir, for the Elves knew the river by another name—Celebrant. 

The older man motioned to the forest ahead. “It runs north of here, and flows eastward into the Anduin.” 

Haldir shifted slightly, studying the intruders from afar. Although they appeared to be in relatively good spirits, their clothes were weather-stained, and there was a slight weariness to their footsteps. Haldir estimated that they had been walking for some time. 

With slowing steps and a click of her tongue, the maid guided her horse around the base of a beech tree. “It is no easy thing to keep a straight path in here.” No sooner had she said this, than her boot wedged itself between some tree roots. Unaware that her company was being watched, the maid quietly voiced her annoyance and wiggled her foot until, after a few tries, it finally slipped free. 

She was small in stature, Haldir noted. But then, she was no Elf. And Elves, generally speaking, were taller than mortal folk. He studied her some more. 

In addition to leather boots, the maid wore breeches and a green vest which was fastened over a woolen tunic. Her chestnut hair was gathered in a loose braid that fell down her back. Noting the blade that hung at her waist, Haldir narrowed his eyes, then looked at her companions. They, too, carried swords. But theirs were sheathed on their backs.

“How long before we make for the valley again?” the maid asked the older fellow. 

“No more than a day, I reckon,” was the man’s answer, delivered as he smoothed a hand over his greying beard. For a moment, his gaze slid warily to the west. “You remember what they say, that those mountains have eyes, especially near to this river. No, until we have crossed the Silverlode, we shall keep to the forest. It is safest.”

“What are they saying?” Rúmil asked from where they were concealed, up in the branches, some distance away. As with most other Elves of Lothlórien, Rúmil did not speak the language of other lands. 

Haldir breathed through flaring nostrils. “They mean to pass through.” And _that_ was a problem. 

Orophin and Rúmil exchanged a concerned glance, but waited to hear what their brother would say. As always, the decision fell to the Marchwarden. 

Haldir weighed his choices. They could either bar their way, or else they could watch and wait in order to better gauge the intruders’ intentions. Whatever the choice, it would have to be made with careful consideration, for the Elves of the Golden Wood were wary of outsiders, and would only reveal themselves when absolutely necessary. 

As he considered his options, Haldir stalked forward, going from tree-limb to tree-limb, with his brothers following closely behind. The intruders were journeying north, but what they failed to realise was that the River Celebrant was deep and nigh on impassable, unless one knew where to cross. And no one, save for the Elves, knew the location of the hidden shoal. A shoal that came and went depending on the current, and the way it shaped and re-shaped the riverbed. A shoal that was well-nigh invisible to all but the keenest eyes.

But what would the company do when they realised they could not cross? Would they abandon their journey and turn around, as Haldir hoped they would? Or would they venture deeper into the forest?

_Let us wait and see._

Haldir looked to Rúmil and Orophin. With a motion of his hand, he indicated that they should err on the side of caution and simply follow for now. Nodding, the brothers proceeded with quiet ease, fanning out as they went. 

When the outsiders came upon the gurgling flow of Nimrodel, they slowed to a stop and looked around. 

With the exception of his beard, or lack thereof, Haldir noted that the young fellow looked like the other one. Kin. Father and son. 

The younger man spoke. “The horses could use a rest. We should stop to let them drink.”

Haldir frowned. He did not like the idea of the party of three lingering overlong. Crouched on a large branch, he held his bow in his hand, but did not yet draw an arrow from his quiver.

“Are you certain you are not the one who is weary?” the maid asked in jest. Her eyes held a playful glimmer, her mouth curved into a smirk.

“So my feet have grown weary. No shame in that.” The young man, whose hair was a shade lighter than the maid’s, returned her smile, then sought the pouch on his belt. “Besides, I need to refill my waterskin. Come along, Heremod. Let us drink.” He tugged on the horse’s lead. The rest of the company followed. 

Once the horses had slaked their thirst, the two men made for a cluster of small boulder stones and sat down for a hasty meal. The maid did not join them. Rather, she remained on the forest edge, staring into a patch of _mallos_ , curiosity evident in her features. “I have never seen such flowers before.”

Crouching, she ran her fingertips along the stems with a feather-light touch that spoke of a deep appreciation for growing things. 

For a reason he could not readily explain, Haldir was struck by the sight. Perhaps it was because of his past dealings with the race of Men, but he had never known them to be this gentle or attuned. Oh, they were nowhere near the same level of destructiveness as Orcs, for instance. But the race of Men did not share the same love of the land as Elves did, and often seemed detached from their surroundings, as though plants and trees were but a mere commodity to be used and burned at need. 

His features shaded by fluttering leaves, Haldir watched her for a few moments more. Long enough to see that her eyes were hazel in colour.

“An unusual place.”

Haldir’s gaze shifted to the younger man who was looking to the east.

“Look at those trees!” He jerked his head toward the great mallorn-trees that grew nowhere else in Middle-earth. “If they grow any taller, I reckon they could graze the clouds.” 

The maid looked, too. “They are tall, I grant you. Taller than I would care to climb. But grazing the clouds?” She arched a skeptical brow. Even from afar, Haldir heard the amused chuckle that shook her frame. 

The older man called her attention to him. “You should eat, Annalyn. We will be off soon.”

Annalyn. To elven ears it was a strange name. Strange but not unpleasant. 

The observation troubled Haldir. He ceased his assessment of her immediately. His duty as Marchwarden was to safe-guard the realm, not to be distracted by unimportant details.


	2. The Silverlode

CHAPTER II

THE SILVERLODE

 

It was late in the afternoon when the group of travellers finally struck the Silverlode. It was a welcome sight at first, for the march had been long, and it meant they were making progress. But their smiles soon turned to frowns when they saw the strong, eddying current. _Too strong_ , Annalyn thought. And too deep. 

She sighed.

“This is not good,” Aldin stated flatly, before glancing at his father who was now standing silent, his stare directed at the fast-moving water.

His brownish-grey hair stirring in the wind, Feran drew a resigned breath. “We will have to find another way across.”

With a lingering look at the river, Annalyn clicked her tongue and pulled on the horse’s lead. “Come,” she said softly to the gentle creature. 

Turning east, they set out along the river, and fell into a long silence. Given that the detour had already cost them a few days, the change in direction was somewhat disheartening. _Let us hope we can cross soon._

Putting one foot in front of the other, Annalyn tried to forget her weariness and focused instead on the strange forest around them. This place was unlike any she had ever seen before. Little by little, it felt as though they were stepping into a different world, or maybe even a different time. Everything seemed flawless somehow, and the _colours_ … So crisp. So vibrant!

Even the breeze felt different. Unlike other forests, where the smell of decaying leaves could be clearly discerned, the air smelled solely of life, of newly bloomed flowers, and green things that grow. As a gentle rush of wind stirred the leaves to life, Annalyn closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. When her eyelids fluttered open once more, she pondered the distance and saw a looming outline of trees that seemed even taller than the ones below which they walked. The awe-inspiring sight sparked a memory and made her wonder. 

“Uncle,” Annalyn started at length, “didn’t Elves once dwell in these parts?” 

Indeed, it was rumoured that Elves abode somewhere to the north of Rohan, in an enchanted forest filled with trees so tall, they defied the imagination.

Feran nodded. “That is what they say. Although there are some who believe it is nothing but old wives’ tales. I, myself, know not what to believe.”

Annalyn understood this, for back on the grassy plains of Rohan, there were many stories about the Elves, many of which were told to little children on cold nights. As a girl, Annalyn remembered sitting by the hearth as her grandfather regaled with stories of people who had wandered deep into elven woods, never to return. Whether or not the tales were true, she could not say. But seeing these beautiful woods firsthand, it seemed farfetched to think they could be treacherous.

“If you ask me,” Aldin suddenly chimed in, “the Elves have long gone, if they ever lived here at all.”

“And just how would you know this?” Annalyn teased.

“Have you ever seen one?”

Annalyn’s mouth opened then snapped shut. At length, she shrugged. “I cannot say that I have.”

“Well, neither have I. None of us have. And we are not so far from Rohan.”

A valid point. 

If the Elves abode here, surely someone would have seen them by now. But Annalyn had never heard of such encounters. Stories, yes, as well as faded accounts from long ago. But firsthand experiences? Never. Not even from the soldiers who patrolled Rohan’s borders.

As the shadows grew long, the group walked deeper into the woods. To their left, the Silverlode continued to run swiftly eastwards. There seemed little hope of crossing before nightfall. 

“We will have to make camp soon,” Feran declared at last. Pointing ahead, he indicated a probable area—a small dell by the river’s edge. It was roofed with interlacing boughs, making what appeared to be a natural refuge. _More than suitable to pass the night_ , she mused. 

If she was honest, Annalyn was grateful for the respite, for the day had been long and her feet were weary. Nevertheless walking had been her choice, and her kin’s as well. It was something they did every once in a while, a gift of rest to the horses who carried them faithfully day after day, league after league.

Once the company had stopped, Annalyn stroked Cobalt’s neck before unfastening her pack and rummaging inside. 

“A warm meal, a night’s rest,” Aldin said as he retrieved an axe from his belongings, “but first, a fire.” When he failed to find any deadfalls, he made for a thicket of trees, where he found a much smaller version of the huge silver trees that adorned the forest. “This might do.”

Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Aldin lifted his axe and was about to swing when—

“ _Daro!_ ” The commanding voice broke through the stillness, startling them. 

Alarmed, they looked all around, then up, but saw no one. Slowly and carefully, they backed towards one another for safety, hands on their weapons. 

Once back-to-back, Feran shifted his stance, called out, “Who goes there?” 

No answer. 

As the company kept their eyes on the canopy, Annalyn whispered to Feran, “Whoever is hiding up there might not speak Rohirric. Try the common tongue.” Westron it was called. She and Aldin had learned it in their youth from her uncle who in turn had picked it up throughout his years of travel. 

Feran nodded in agreement. In Westron, he demanded, “Show yourself!” 

At first, there was silence. Then, “As you wish.” 

So she had guessed rightly. Whoever was hiding in the trees spoke the common tongue, but with a slight accent. One Annalyn could not place. 

There was a faint creaking sound overhead, like strings being pulled taut.

Heart hammering in her chest, Annalyn lifted her eyes and saw an arrow, pointed directly at her head. She swallowed hard as her field of vision expanded to take in a bow, and then the archer. Her jaw dropped. 

“You are surrounded.” There was that voice again—rich and resonant, but stern—from somewhere to her right. “It would be wise to lower your weapons.” 

“Do as he says,” Feran said through clenched teeth. And they did.

Caught between fear and awe, Annalyn beheld the golden-haired sentinels surrounding them. Elves! Three of them. Fair in appearance, they were wrapped in grey cloaks, their dark blue eyes filled with quiet but lethal intensity as they held their bows in readiness to shoot. 

“My brothers and I have been aware of you for some time,” one said. “Rare is the sight of Men in the Golden Wood.” Doubtless trying to gauge their intentions, he pondered Annalyn and her kin for what seemed a long time. Apparently satisfied with his assessment, he then lowered his bow before dropping from his perch with nigh even a sound. His brothers remained where they were. 

Standing in front of them, the Elf arched a perfect eyebrow, and scrutinized them each in turn. He was rather tall. “Far is the nearest settlement. Even at a gallop, it takes many days to reach these woods. Tell me, from whence do you come?” 

As the Elf circled them, Annalyn couldn’t help but wonder if the question was a test rather than a true inquiry. Her throat bobbed. _Please answer truthfully, uncle_. 

“Rohan,” Feran answered but cast a hard look at the weapons which were still pointed in their direction. “We have travelled for many leagues, and wish only to pass through.” 

“So we have gathered,” the Elf said before addressing his brothers in a tongue she had never heard before. It was a command, Annalyn realised, for they immediately lowered their bows, but remained ever watchful.

“Have no fear. We mean you no harm. Haldir is my name.” Pointing above, he added. “My brothers are Rúmil and Orophin.”

After a reluctant pause, Feran introduced himself, then gestured toward his party. “This is my son, Aldin. And my niece, Annalyn.”

Bringing a hand to his chest, Haldir gave a small bow, but his demeanour remained cool. “ _Mae govannen_.”

Knowing this to be a greeting of some sort, Feran replied in kind. “Well met.”

But Haldir remained wary. “The lands beyond these woods are growing increasingly perilous, and are scarcely travelled nowadays. What brings you this far north?”

“Trade,” Feran answered. “We have been gathering rare herbs along the Misty Mountains for a number of years now. Ordinarily, our route runs through the Gap of Rohan, then northward along the western flank of the mountain range. Alas our pickings have grown meager of late. Hence the reason we are here, on the eastern side.”

“There are mountains in Rohan. Why do you risk such a journey?” 

Feran opened his mouth to speak, but it was Annalyn who said, “The plants we covet do not grow in the White Mountains.” Her uncle might not appreciate the interruption—and she had tried to hold her tongue—but she and her kin had done nothing wrong. Yet these Elves had fallen upon them as if she and her kin posed some sort of threat. Perhaps they mistook her company for common brigands, or spies. 

Offended by the notion, Annalyn stood her ground. “And given that they are curative herbs, they are much needed by my people. Surely you can understand.” She held his gaze without flinching. The Elf, however, seemed unmoved.

“Annalyn,” her uncle warned her in a hushed tone. 

Her blood near to boiling, she bit the inside of her cheek and tapped her foot on the ground. Fine.

Feran looked to the Elf once more. “We do not intend to linger. Conditions permitting, we are hoping to make it all the way to the Gladden Fields before crossing the mountain pass and heading back to Rohan.” 

“That is quite far.” Haldir seemed impressed, but then his expression changed, hardening again. “Alas I am afraid we cannot allow you to wander freely in these woods.” 

Annalyn was incredulous. “What?”

“You cannot be serious!” Aldin said at the same time. 

Forestalling any argument, Haldir lifted a hand, and addressed his brothers. What was said, Annalyn could only guess. As Rúmil and Orophin joined their brother on the ground, she opened her mouth to protest once more. “Wait,” her uncle suddenly told her, his hand coming to rest on her forearm.

Her gaze shifting to the Elves, Annalyn watched as Haldir conferred quietly with his brothers. 

_This is ridiculous_ , she thought.

At last, Haldir turned to them. “While it is not our custom, we are willing to lead you across the river and out of the forest.”

It was not the outcome they had been hoping for, but it seemed they had little choice in the matter. 

“You will rest hither tonight. Tomorrow we depart.” With that, Haldir whistled like a bird, and three more sentinels appeared. 

_How many more are there?_ Annalyn wondered as she spied the interlacing boughs overhead. It was remarkable, not to mention unsettling, how the Elves could move around like ghosts, unheard and unseen, until they wished otherwise.

When Haldir spoke to the sentinels, they nodded. Back to Annalyn and her kin, he clarified the exchange. “You need not worry about foes on this night. This area is well guarded.”

“Thank you,” Feran replied. “But if it’s all the same, my kin and I will take turns watching as well.”

At these words, a tiny smirk found its way to Annalyn’s lips. _Trust goes both ways, Haldir._

For his part, the Elf seemed to appreciate the reply. He nodded. “Very well. If it be your will.”


	3. A Night in the Golden Wood

CHAPTER III

A NIGHT IN THE GOLDEN WOOD 

 

“A night amongst us,” Rúmil remarked as he and Haldir stood just outside the company’s encampment, eyeing the outsiders as they saw to their horses before the night. With the end of his longbow resting lightly before his feet, Rúmil observed the newcomers with puzzled interest before looking sidelong at his brother. “A bold and curious choice. May I ask why?”

Now normally Haldir would have bristled at having his directives questioned, for as Marchwarden he did not have to explain his reasoning to those who served under him—nor would his sentinels usually presume to ask. But because this was Rúmil, and because Haldir knew his youngest brother was merely being curious, he tolerated the query, but raised an inquiring brow. 

Rúmil asked, “Why not send them back from whence they came?” 

A fair question, given that it was standard practice, barring those instances when dubious intentions were suspected. If such had been the case, if Haldir had had the slightest inkling that this company was up to no good, he would not have hesitated. He would have had them detained and hauled before the Lord and the Lady of the Galadhrim, to be judged or released as the rulers saw fit. But fortunately for the outsiders, Haldir had sensed neither deception nor malevolent intention. If anything, they seemed genuine, wearied yet eager to get underway, to leave the Golden Wood to find and gather the plants they coveted before winter arrived. 

Returning to his brother’s query, Haldir watched the older fellow—Feran—lead his horse toward the river’s edge so the animal might drink. “The thought had crossed my mind,” he admitted in Sindarin, recalling how he had first meant to turn them away. 

But when the man and his niece had explained the company’s purpose, even going so far as revealing where they were headed, the new information had given Haldir pause for thought. With a stern exterior, he had weighed his choices with great care, before conferring with his brothers, namely to ask what they made of this company. Their perception falling in line with his own, he had turned to the company and granted them a rare boon, if only to appease his conscience.

“I do not relish their presence any more than you do,” Haldir said to Rúmil. “But had I barred their route, it is likely they would have taken to the mountains to circumvent the river and resume their journey north.” He leveled a look at his brother. “You and I both know what lies at the end of _Nanduhirion_.”

Moria. A labyrinthine system of caves and mine-shafts. Long abandoned by the Dwarves, yet far from empty. 

A shadow of understanding came over Rúmil’s features. For a silent moment, distant and haunting memories unfurled in both their minds. His focus shifting to the upcoming watch, Rúmil slung his bow upon his back. “They were quite fortunate, then. Although something tells me they fail to see it.” His mouth tilted and he jerked his chin toward the far side of camp. “Her most of all.”

Haldir had noted it earlier; the maid was not pleased. 

Like her kin, she was courteous enough, had complied with the conditions he had set upon them. Still, the arch of her eyebrow, and the way she was now pursing her lips told him she was displeased. Perhaps their dealings had offended her in some way—not that he would loosen his concession. Haldir had done much already, more than he normally would have. 

It was a rare allowance. Downright generous was what it was, a privilege denied to most, if not all, who trespassed upon these woods. Making camp out here, _crossing_ the River Celebrant? It was more than uncommon, it was exceptional. Haldir was in a very giving mood indeed. 

A rhythmic _swish-swish_ cut through the otherwise peaceful forest, and Haldir looked up to see that a ladder had been thrown down. As it uncoiled, he spotted Orophin, descending from a hidden _talan_ way up above. From his right hand dangled three lanterns.

Once he had reached the ground, the middle brother made his way over and extended his arm. “Here they are. As requested.” Relieved of his burden, Orophin looked to the outsiders but addressed Haldir. “How fare our guests?” 

“They are behaving.” The absurdity of his own words was not lost on Haldir. But then this was an absurd situation, for instead of watching for actual threats, his attention was now centered on this company, mostly to ensure that no harm came to these woods. _Like watching over a group of careless children_. “What of our patrols?”

“All appears quiet,” Orophin answered. “If anything stirs, they promise to alert us at once.”

Satisfied with these tidings, Haldir carried the lanterns over to where the younger fellow was checking his supplies. At his approach, he ceased what he was doing and regarded Haldir with an air of distrust. 

“We have a rule here,” Haldir said coolly and without preamble. He held out the lamps. “Lest you incur the wrath of the Galadhrim, you should think twice before harming a tree in these woods.” The young man—Aldin—swallowed hard at that. Haldir was not sorry to see it. The fool had tried to fell a precious mallorn after all, a slight he had neither forgotten nor forgiven. 

It took a moment, but the young man somehow mastered his disquiet. Stone-faced, he raised his chin. “Understood.” His gaze darting to Haldir’s outstretched hand, Aldin eyed the lamps before taking them and peering through the glass. “No wick. How am I supposed to light these?”

“You do not. Fire is not permitted in the Golden Wood. As for the lamps, they will glow on their own once night has fallen.”

The chains clinked as Aldin raised the lanterns at eye-level, scrutinizing them with a skeptical look. “A curious form of magic.” 

Having neither the time nor the desire to explain, Haldir turned to leave, but the young man called after him, “Wait.”

Aldin set the lamps on the ground, and straightened to full height—he was not so tall. “May I have a private word?”

Though weary of discussion, Haldir indicated a grassy avenue between the trees, and started walking. Aldin fell into step beside him. 

“You are wary of us,” the young man said and was not wrong. “I do not blame you. If our roles were reversed, I would likely do the same.”

Haldir maintained a cool stride, but did not lower his guard. 

At length, Aldin slowed to a stop and faced him. “But rest assured, I will honour your forest and your ways.” Courteous words. Perhaps he was being sincere. “But as you guard this place, know that I, too, guard my kin.” It was not a threat, but a word of warning. Not only could Haldir see it in his eyes, but he sensed it as well, a knowing as it were. 

_He is loyal that one. Protective of his kin._ Haldir could respect that, said, “I would not bring shame on myself by telling a falsehood. So long as you follow the conditions set upon you, I shall treat you fairly, and will lead you past the river.” _Consider yourself fortunate_ , he almost added, because it was true. 

Had the company entered the woods just a few leagues east of here, Haldir doubted they would have been given the same courtesy. For Erynion, the Marchwarden who commanded the neighbouring fences, would not have cared where the company meant to go afterward. Moria or no, he would have turned them away at once. That or he would have dragged them to the city—as punishment for the near-felling of a mallorn—or sent them scurrying by sending a volley of arrows, aimed to miss, but by a hair. 

For such was the way in the Golden Wood. The protection of the realm was paramount, and neither Haldir nor his fellow warden liked to take chances. 

Indeed, there were two Marchwardens in Lothlórien, one for each half of the forest—regions that were commonly referred to as the Northern and Southern Marches. Named thusly, one would think that the line between the two would have spanned from east to west, in a relatively straight line, but such was not the case. 

The Southern Marches, for instance, curved to include the entire eastern edge of the woods, whereas the Northern Marches included the entire western side—where it chanced that Feran’s company had entered the woods. By dividing the forest in this fashion, the elven companies could maintain a focused watch on the threats that loomed west and east of here: one in the deep caverns of the mountains, the other in the dark forest of Mirkwood.

In the gathering twilight, Haldir observed the younger fellow, and returned to the topic at hand. “Are we in agreement, then?” 

Aldin endured his gaze better than anticipated. After a long moment, he gave a reluctant nod. “Very well. I will place my trust in you.” _But should you prove false_ , his face seemed to warn.

Haldir might have smirked at that, but he restrained his features, and remained aloof. “You are quite bold for one of the Secondborn. And brave.” 

Aldin gritted his teeth, perhaps to stifle a retort. As the leaves rustled in the treetops, the two exchanged measuring stares, silently weighing the other to see if further distrust was warranted. In the end, it was Haldir who broke their impasse, mainly because he had tired of it. “I have not deceived you.” With a bow of his head and a hand to his chest, he looked the young man square in the eyes. “So long as you respect these woods and yield to my authority, I am willing to guide you out of this forest,”— _and thus be rid of you_ —“I give you my word.”

With nothing more to say, the two double-backed toward the encampment and went their separate ways. As Aldin returned to his supplies, Haldir approached the maid—Annalyn, he remembered—as she brushed her horse’s coat. 

“A beautiful mount. Does he have a name?” In truth, he had not meant to strike a conversation with her. Or at the very least, he had not planned to until his feet had brought him here. 

But then again, as Marchwarden was it not his duty to get to know these outsiders? Satisfied with his reasoning, he watched as she spared him a glance. Her voice, when she spoke, was not discourteous, but it was not exactly warm either. “Cobalt.” 

Eyes on her horse, she did not slow in her task. Her chin was slightly raised. There seemed to be a hard set to her jaw.

His gaze straying across camp, Haldir considered the leader of this group. The older man was still somewhat on guard—as a company leader should be in their present situation—but his disposition was not as frigid as Annalyn’s. 

Haldir surveyed the encampment but addressed the maid. “You are displeased.”

At first, she did not answer. But then, “Would it matter if I was?”

He pondered her query for a moment. “I suppose not.” 

“I thought so.” 

Haldir realised she was watching him with a sour tilt to her mouth, her brow raised in a smug sort of challenge. The brazen display had his nostrils flaring, but before he could summon a reply, she turned away from him, and rounded her horse. “Arrogant Elf,” he heard her say in Rohirric, her voice so low it wouldn’t have carried to mortal ears. But Haldir was no mortal. He had heard her quite clearly. In lieu of calling her out on it, however, he pinned her with a hard stare—one she failed to see or deliberately chose to ignore. 

As the maid tucked the brush in her saddle-bag, he started to leave, but halted mid-step to remind her, “Were it not for us, you would have no hope in crossing the river tomorrow.” 

A pause ensued. Annalyn considered him with an up-turned brow. He did the same. Perhaps she disliked his candour, but he had merely spoken the truth. 

At length, she fastened her saddle-bag—annoyance edging her quiet motions—and met his gaze once again. “So you say.” 

Her trust, it seemed, was not so easily won. _Perhaps they are not as reckless as I first believed._ Partly insulted and partly impressed, Haldir made to leave. “So I say. And so I shall.”

Whether she believed him, Haldir had no idea, but the maid inclined her head at that. Doing the same, he calmly strode away. 

~~~

And so it was that they settled for the night. As the stars first appeared in the sky, Feran sat sharpening his blade while, several paces away, Annalyn and Aldin huddled near a silver lamp provided by the Elves. 

“An odd sort of light.” Slender fingers touched the exterior of the lantern then hazel eyes met golden brown. “Like the moon almost, or the stars. But no heat.” Perplexed, Annalyn set the lamp back down.

“No heat,” Aldin echoed in Rohirric. “Because fire,”—he tried to mimic Haldir’s cool, imperious expression—“is not permitted in the Golden Wood.”

Annalyn started to laugh, but quickly stopped herself. “Careful,” she warned her cousin who was more like a brother to her. “It wouldn’t do to insult these Elves.” 

“How can they be insulted?” He nudged his chin across camp. “Those two have not uttered a word, save in their own language, since they’ve stopped us. And the one in charge only answers when we speak Westron. Believe me, they have not the faintest idea of what we are saying.”

His assumption was not unreasonable, though in truth how could they be sure? As she mulled this over, Annalyn heaved a breath through her nose, her stare directed at Haldir. “Do you want to know what I think?”

When Aldin made no reply, she went over what her cousin had told her regarding the rules here. “I think what he truly meant was that he does not trust outsiders to make a fire. It would not surprise me at any rate.” Her eyes flitted upward. “This forest is clearly very old. Maybe it is sacred to them.” 

“They guard it well, I will give you that.” Aldin gave a non-committal shrug. But then, as Annalyn reached into a folded square of linen to produce her latest find, his eyes went to the sliver of green in her hand. “Is that what I think it is?” 

With a proud little smile, she popped a small leaf into her mouth. “It is. I found a small patch just before we entered these woods. This far north, can you believe it?” Annalyn laughed and fetched another leaf. “Would you like some?”

Aldin reached forward. “Now you know I love chickweed.”

As the two savoured the little treat, a lengthening silence fell between them. Annalyn soon sank into her thoughts, pondering the Elves who stood nearby.

At present, the two named Rúmil and Orophin were patrolling the periphery of the dell, their watchful eyes directed at the darkened forest beyond, while Haldir approached her uncle and said something she could not hear. 

“ _Were it not for us,_ ” he had said to her today, “ _you would have no hope in crossing the river tomorrow_.” 

Arrogant words. Yet for all she knew, he might be misleading them. 

Perhaps she was being overly distrustful, but Annalyn could not discount the stories she had heard as a child, stories that warned against magical forests and fair-looking Elves. 

The evening deepened. But as the sounds of night gradually enveloped the encampment, nature’s lullaby failed to soothe her troubled mind. Suspicion gnawed at Annalyn. What if the Elves meant to ensnare them? Or slay them in their sleep? Eyes on Haldir, she set her chickweed aside, and scratched that last thought. She was being ridiculous. If the Elves had wanted them dead, they wouldn’t have waited. They would have shot them outright.

Not murderers, then. But were they guides or captors? She couldn’t decide, and wouldn’t just yet. Not until Haldir made true on his promise to guide them across the river and out of the forest— _if_ he made true on his promise. As badly as she wanted to believe him, a series of images kept flashing in her mind. Today’s ambush. Dark elven eyes set in cold stares. And that arrow, aimed directly at her head.

Stamping down on her fear, Annalyn tried to ignore the icy shiver that ran from her neck all the way down to her tail-bone. Wary, she swept a gaze over the surrounding woods. _Will we ever make it out of here?_

“What was that?” Aldin asked, making her realise that she had breathed the question aloud. 

“I am wondering…”

“Wondering what?” 

She considered the Elves before narrowing her focus on Haldir who now stood still as a statue, on the outer edge of the dell. His face, unsurprisingly, yielded nothing. “Do you think they can be trusted?”

“Let us hope.” Aldin chewed on his chickweed for a moment. “I spoke to the tall one today, and while I cannot be absolutely certain, I believe he is being genuine.” He leaned back on his forearm to stretch out his legs. “At any rate, what else can we do? If they do not aid us, we shall have to bring the horses around and return home with little to show for it.” 

“Not this time.” It was out of the question. The healer’s stores _would_ be replenished, one way or another, even if she had to go to the ends of the earth to find the herbs they needed. For Annalyn knew full well what could happen when medicine ran out. It had happened before, years ago. Never again. 

Aldin, who was now deep in thought, reached into the breast pocket of his tunic to produce the faded map that had been their guide. The parchment crinkled as he opened the folds, revealing a vast landscape of mountains and valleys, of rivers and lakes and realms whose names Annalyn knew but could not read, having never learned. 

As Aldin rubbed his chin, he pondered the map before pointing to a wall of jagged peaks. “Unless we take to the mountains… There, just west of here. If we keep to that band of trees along those mountain ridges, perhaps we can climb high enough to avoid the river altogether.” But even as he spoke, Aldin’s doubts were apparent, and mirrored her own, for she had heard the rumours. They all had—that evil creatures lurked in that part of the mountain range. Orcs and Trolls and Wolves, just to name a few. It was the reason they had been keeping to the valley these past few days, the reason they had sought the cover of the forest, only to be ambushed by Elves. 

“No,” Aldin was saying, as if to himself. His attention remained on the map. “Unless we must, we should avoid the mountains. At least until we reach the valley north of here.” 

Annalyn was relieved to hear it. At the last, Aldin folded the parchment, said, “For now, I say we follow these Elves.” Though honestly, what else could they do? “I spoke to father earlier. He agrees.” 

“Indeed, I do,” Feran said as he neared. With a grunt and a wince, he sought the ground next to his son. 

“Your knees again?” Annalyn asked him as he sat. 

Feran huffed a raspy laugh. “The price of old age.”

“You are not so old.” Her uncle might have been past his prime, but at sixty, he remained stout and solid, stronger than most men his age. Reaching into her pack, Annalyn produced a jar of pungent salve for aches and pains, and lobbed it over. 

“Kind as always, but I am old enough.” 

As Feran rolled up the hem of his breeches, Annalyn frowned. “You should have ridden today. We could have swapped horses on the morrow. I do not mind walking a second day.” 

But Feran waved a hand. “You know, I believe you were right the first time around. I am not so old.”

It was an effort not to roll her eyes. “Men and their pride.”

“Ha!” It was Aldin who spoke. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” 

“Are you saying I am prideful?”

“That is precisely what I am saying.” He laughed. 

“Very well, then.” She crossed her arms. “Name an example.”

“You are serious?” With no small amount of amusement, Aldin reminded her of the time she had challenged a boy to a race across the wide stream that bordered their village. It had been long since Annalyn had thought of that embarrassing day. She couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve at the time. “You boasted you could beat him,” Aldin was saying, “but as I recall, you slipped on the rocks, fell on flat on your rump, and twisted your ankle quite nicely.”

Annalyn tried to look insulted, but Aldin was undeterred, “I was young at the time, but I remember. The older children offered to carry you home, but you scrambled to your feet and said they were being hens, that it was nothing and you could walk without their aid. And walk you did,”—his shoulders bobbed up and down—“stomping all the way back, putting your full weight on it just to prove your point.” Looking to his father, Aldin formed a globe with his hands. “You remember the following morning. Her ankle had grown to the size of my head.”

Annalyn chuckled in spite of herself. “There you go again. You and your embellishments. My ankle was _not_ the size of your head.”

But her kin were still laughing. And so was she. 

Looking back on it, Annalyn could admit that she had been foolish. Stubborn was the word her mother had used. By stalking home, she had worsened the injury, and paid for it with a painfully swollen ankle, not to mention a bruised ego. Forced to use a crutch, she had hobbled around for weeks afterward. It had been quite the lesson. Luckily, she could laugh about it now.

Her eyes straying across the dell, Annalyn realised that Haldir was now watching them, his haughty features inscrutable as always. As their laughter died away, she and her kin retreated into their own thoughts for a while, until at the last, Aldin spoke softly. “A perculiar folk they are.” He was watching the Elves again, but then his gaze went to the boughs overhead. “Doubtless there are many more hidden in the trees. I cannot see them, but I can almost feel their eyes, watching our every move.”

Annalyn did not say so aloud, but she sensed the same thing, and found it unnerving. 

“It is late,” Feran stated in brooding resignation. “I shall take first watch this night. You two should take some rest.”

Conceding that he was right, Annalyn gave him her bundle of chickweed, and bid him good night. A brief search later, she found a suitable spot to sleep. There, at the foot of a large tree, Annalyn unrolled her blanket, and draped it over her cloak. The forest floor was soft, she noted. Much better than the hard ground onto which they had slept the night before. Her head pillowed on her pack, Annalyn heaved a tired sigh and closed her eyes. 

Some time later, she was roused from sleep by a gentle shake of her shoulder. “Your turn,” Aldin whispered, his outline dark and distinct against the star-studded sky. 

Annalyn rubbed her eyes as she sat up then got to her feet and rolled up her blanket. A few paces away, her cousin had lowered himself to the ground and was now tossing and turning, testing the forest floor to find a comfortable position. Soft snores were coming from somewhere beyond him. _Uncle Feran_. She had to smile.

Shifting her attention to the Elves, Annalyn saw that they were guarding the periphery. Despite the late hour, none of them seemed weary. _Do they not sleep?_

Spurred by curiosity, Annalyn allowed her gaze to linger on Haldir. She knew little, if anything of him. Yet some things she could clearly see. He was grave and proud, self-assured to the point of being arrogant. Even in silence he annoyed her. Even so, he was willing to help them cross that impossible river tomorrow—or so he claimed. Was he telling the truth though? 

“Quiet night?” Annalyn asked in Westron. 

“Indeed.” His tone straddled the line between serenity and boredom.

“Good.” Annalyn nodded, but said no more. Instead, she turned her attention to the forest, fingertips drumming on the hilt of her blade as her feet ferried her toward a nearby tree.

Save for the whisper of leaves, the chirping of crickets, and the soft rush of the river, the forest was indeed very quiet. Eyes skimming the immediate horizon, Annalyn watched, listened, and waited for what seemed a long time.

Still nothing.

As a lone cloud scurried above the branches overhead, Annalyn crossed her boots at the ankles and leaned back against the tree. Somewhere to her right, a movement caught her eye. It was one of the Elves, the most youthful looking of the three. Rúmil, she remembered. As he moved among the trees, his footsteps were altogether silent. 

Thinking back to the ambush, Annalyn had to admit that these Elves were masters of concealment. Having stood on the wrong end of their arrows, she suspected they were formidable warriors as well. The quiet but lethal intensity in their eyes had been unsettling to behold, making her more than a little relieved when Haldir had decided she and her kin posed no threat. 

But what of these Elves? Could they be trusted? Were they a threat? Thinking she might gain more insight by speaking to Haldir, Annalyn cleared her throat. “So. Tomorrow. How long before we reach that crossing, do you think?”

“If we leave at first light, we should reach the shoal by midday. Late in the afternoon at the most.”

“And the forest edge?” In truth, she couldn’t wait to see the valley again. Open air, with no guides, no guards. Just her and her kin. _Freedom._

“You seem quite eager to leave,” Haldir remarked coolly.

“No less eager than you are to be rid of us.” It was pure speculation—or maybe it was hope—but when his brows shot up by a fraction, Annalyn sensed she had guessed rightly.

Haldir neither confirmed nor denied her observation. He did, however, answer her query. “In my estimation, you should reach the valley in two days.”

“That long?” she said before she could stop herself.

“At a trot, you would likely arrive in half that time, but I would advise against it. The ground here is uneven and treacherous for horses.”

“Your concern is touching,” Annalyn stated dryly. “But I do see your point. We will not risk our horses.” A purse of her lips and she crossed her arms. “Two days, then.”

As Haldir inclined his head, Annalyn watched him closely. His eyes retained a slight air of superiority, but try as she might, she saw no lie in them. 

_But am I mistaken? I could be._

Her instincts were not infallible after all, as she had learned not that long ago—albeit in a much different situation. _Such a fool I was_. On certain days, Annalyn felt the sting of it still. But mostly, she just wanted to forget. 

Back to the present, Annalyn pondered her company’s predicament. Tomorrow would be the real test, she knew. Haldir would either follow through with his promise, or he would not. Until then, it seemed there was little she could do except to wait and see. 

“Aldin says that you call yourselves Galadhrim,” Annalyn ventured after a time, figuring that, so long as she was stuck here, she might as well gather some knowledge. “The name is not known to me. What does it mean?”

A pause ensued, as though he was debating whether or not to answer. “In the elven-tongue, it means Tree-People.”

“Tree-people,” Annalyn echoed, trying to sound aloof. A fitting name, she supposed and wondered if the Elves abode up there, amongst the boughs.

The watch continued, the two standing in silence while Rúmil and Orophin circled the encampment at a distance. Surprisingly enough, despite her lingering doubts, Annalyn found she did not mind Haldir’s company—at least not as much as before. With the deteriorating state of the world, and the ever increasing number of foes, standing watch had become a necessity on most nights, a task which varied between tedious and unnerving. Yet tonight, it felt like neither. 

There was much beauty here, even in starlight. It was difficult to imagine Orcs in such a setting. Even if they did venture in here, she thought, they would not get very far. Not with these Elves standing watch. 

Reassured, Annalyn looked up and out, past the interweaving boughs, to the shimmering stars in the velvet blackness. She loved the stars, how timeless they were. At length, the forest floor drew her gaze. Although most of the colours were muted to hues of blue, a tiny patch of yellow flowers could be seen at the foot of a nearby tree. The delicate petals captured her attention at once, sparking a memory. They were the same species of flowers she had seen hours earlier, near that lovely stream where she and her kin had shared a light meal.

“ _Mallos_. The golden flower.” Annalyn looked up at the words, spoken softly by Haldir. Her eyes finding him, she saw his enigmatic gaze on her, the corner of his mouth curved just so.

“They are very beautiful,” she found herself saying, stammering as her mind grappled with this sudden shift. Was he actually smiling?

Haldir said no more. His deep respect and fondness for growing things were clearly visible in his features. Oddly enough, it resonated with Annalyn. Even so, it did not sway her view of him. So what if he loved flowers? He had yet to prove his quality.

Night wore on and a humid chill settled on the forest. Feeling her skin rise in goose prickles, Annalyn wrapped her cloak more tightly around her frame. If not for the fact that she might look weak or stupid, she would have grabbed her blanket. Instead, she tried her best not to shiver and decided to tough it out. 

“You are cold.” Haldir’s words broke through the stillness, startling her.

“It is but a slight chill,” Annalyn replied, making light of it. Her breath was now visible, each exhalation a rapidly vanishing swirl of steam. 

Looking to his brother, Haldir said something she could not understand. Perplexed and intrigued, she then watched as Rúmil nodded and disappeared among the branches. A moment later, he returned carrying a small phial filled with what appeared to be a clear cordial. 

Handing it to her, Rúmil gave a small bow before resuming his watch.

When she looked to Haldir, he must have seen the question in her eyes. “An elven drink,” he explained. “It will help ward off the chill.”

Caught completely off-guard, it was a moment before she could say anything. “Thank you.” 

Haldir bowed slightly, his features unreadable once more. “ _I 'ell nîn_ Annalyn.” 

With that, he turned and she watched him go, her eyes trailing after him until he had reached a new vantage point, a little farther away. 

Phial in hand, Annalyn remained motionless for several heartbeats, her thoughts on his mysterious words. 

_I 'ell nîn Annalyn…_

She did not know what they meant but—arrogant Elf or not—she loved the sound of them.


	4. A Difficult Crossing

**CHAPTER IV**

**A DIFFICULT CROSSING**

Night waned, and their watch remained uneventful. As dawn approached at last, dark blue skies softened to pink and purple hues. It would be a glorious day, Annalyn thought, her eyes skimming the peaceful fortress of trees as it gradually filled with soft light.

With any luck, her company would cross the river today, and then journey onward until they said farewell to this forest and the sentinels who guarded it. The Galadhrim.

It was strange to think how just a few hours ago she had wanted nothing more than to hasten out of here, to flee this place and the Elves who had barred their way. In fact, following the ambush, Annalyn had sorely regretted setting foot here. But now…

She wasn't going to lie; the greater part of her was looking forward to getting underway, to breathe the open air and gather the medicine her village needed. Yet in a tiny corner of her heart, Annalyn was sorry to be leaving so soon, for in all her travels she had never seen as fair a forest as this one.

A faint breeze rustled the leaves overhead, a perfect companion to the lulling sights around her. While the air had yet to warm, Annalyn no longer felt the chill, thanks to the elven cordial Haldir had given her.

Initially, the wary part of her had been reluctant to try it. But when the chill had settled into her bones, making her shiver, her desire for warmth had eclipsed her trepidation enough for her to risk it—tasting but a tiny drop at first. Then she had waited. Feeling no ill-effects, Annalyn had taken an actual sip then waited some more. This, she had repeated until—much to her relief and delight—the elven drink had worked exactly as Haldir had said it would. Even now, its effects lingered, suffusing her entire being with radiating warmth.

Her thoughts circling back to the previous night, Annalyn had to own that the gift had altered her perception somewhat, forcing her to admit that her initial impressions might have been wrong after all. This place, the Elves who guarded it… perhaps they weren't so bad.

That wasn't to say that she trusted the Elves entirely. They still needed to make true on their promise. But after last night, Annalyn was at least open to the possibility that she had misjudged them. Haldir especially, at least when it came to certain things.

Yes, he was clearly distrustful. And yes, he was unyielding, with a stoic and conceited manner that rubbed her the wrong way. But that being said, he might not be… unkind. In the waning hours of the night, as they had stood watch together, Haldir had actually been courteous, thoughtful. That, coupled with their brief exchange about those flowers— _mallos_ , he had called them—only bolstered her suspicions that there might be many layers to him, hidden beneath that stern and commanding exterior of his.

Thinking it was time to wake her uncle and cousin, Annalyn pushed herself away from the tree. As her feet carried her across the dell, she noted that Orophin and Rúmil were conversing quietly amongst themselves, not far from where the horses were tethered. The only notable absence was Haldir, as he had been called away a short while ago.

Upon reaching her kin, Annalyn bent down. "Wake up, uncle," she said, giving a slight shake to his shoulder before straightening again. When she neared her cousin, however, Annalyn's playful side emerged. With a mirthful expression, she nudged him with the side of her boot. "That is quite enough sleep. We'll be off soon."

Grumbling under his breath, Aldin returned her mischief by grabbing a handful of leaves and tossing them in her direction. When these failed to reach her, amused laughter bubbled in her throat.

Sitting up, Aldin simply shook his head and smiled.

And so their day began.

As was the case with most of their meals, breakfast was a hasty affair. Once they had eaten, the group gathered their supplies and secured them to their horses.

"Where is our guide?" Aldin inquired as he worked to adjust the strap of his saddle.

Annalyn shrugged and was about to speak when Haldir finally came into view. Sunlight glinting off his golden hair, he dropped from the lower perches of a tree, and landed with fluid grace. "There he is."

She watched him for a moment longer. Haldir had said he meant them no harm, that he would lead them out of here. Perhaps she should give him the benefit of the doubt. A part of her wanted to. So then maybe she would, albeit cautiously, with both eyes open.

After a brief discussion with her uncle, Haldir joined his brothers by the water's edge.

"Ready to leave?" Feran asked his kin as he neared.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Aldin answered, mounting his horse.

Doing the same, Annalyn watched from her saddle as Haldir made his way over, his brothers trailing after him. His deep blue eyes momentarily connecting with hers, he addressed them in a level but commanding tone. "You will follow me."

They did.

* * *

Sunlight glinted through the trees, casting shimmering patterns on the group as they wound their way among the mallorn-trees, always within view of the River Celebrant. Leading the party, Haldir and Rúmil had set a steady pace. Behind them, Feran and his kin followed on horseback, whilst Orophin brought up the rear.

Allowing Rúmil to continue forth, Haldir slowed and waited for Feran to catch up. Like the previous evening, the man was quiet, watchful of his surroundings—not that he blamed him. Indeed, Haldir understood his lingering vigilance. Feran was the company leader, after all. And as such, his decisions affected not only himself, but the two who deferred to him.

"This river might not be Anduin the Great," Feran said as he surveyed the silvery current beyond the tree line, "but I will own, its waters are daunting."

"Celebrant can indeed be treacherous," Haldir said, "especially if one is not mindful. The current is strong, and its waters issue from high up the Misty Mountains, and are therefore quite cold." So cold, the Elves did not generally venture into it.

As he fell into step beside Feran's horse, Haldir looked to the aging man. "It is fortunate you passed when you did. At any other time, Celebrant runs too deep and cannot be crossed with horses."

"It is a strange name you call it," Feran said.

"To your ears it might be strange in sound perhaps, but the meaning is the same. Celebrant means Silvercourse."

"Is that so?"

The horses' hooves thudded on the mossy ground, the sound blending with those of the forest.

Haldir said, "I feel I should warn you—the crossing is not without risk."

"I had presumed as much," Feran replied then asked if he could speak frankly.

"It is my belief that words should always be truthful," Haldir said. Though, in his view, wisdom and caution came in knowing which ones to withhold and which ones to say aloud.

"Even now, I am still uncertain what to make of you," Feran offered at last. "But if you help us, as you say you will… You shall have my heartfelt gratitude and my thanks." The man's disquiet receded enough for his smile to reach his eyes. "It is good to find helpful folk out here. It has become a rare thing nowadays."

When the company leader fell silent, Haldir assumed he had nothing more to say, but then the man spoke once more, on a sigh. "Still, I understand why you stopped us. One cannot be too cautious these days. I, too, have to be wary at times, not only for myself but for my kin who have followed me these past years. Followed without pause or complaint, where most will no longer go."

"We have noted it. There are very few travellers about."

Feran nodded in agreement. There was an air of sadness to his features. "Unless there is absolute need, few venture in the wilds these days. The plains and the mountains are growing perilous. You must have seen them. Fell folk, if they can be called such. Cruel and wicked creatures with the blackest of hearts."

"Orcs. Yes, we have seen them." Too often, it seemed.

As they passed through a bright swath of sunlight, Feran threw a lingering look over at his kin, one of fatherly affection, but one that held a trace of doubt. Indeed, it seemed to Haldir that the man might be second-guessing himself and his decision to lead his kin out here.

It was understandable. Haldir could even relate on some level, for as Marchwarden, he held similar responsibility, though on a much larger scale. Every decision, every action had to be weighed with the utmost care. A wrong choice might cost a life, or many lives. It was a heavy burden to bear, but one he would never forsake.

As a breeze swept around him, stirring his hair and the hem of his cloak, Haldir found that he was reassessing his views. As he pondered the events of the past day, he wondered if he had misjudged this man and his company. Admittedly, they were not as difficult as he had first assumed. Even the young man, Haldir admitted grudgingly—though he had yet to digest the fact that Aldin had nearly harmed a mallorn.

All that aside, the company had done all that he had asked of them. Heedful of his warning, they even seemed mindful of the forest. As they rode, they strayed not from the old road and took care not to trample the growth. Having maintained a careful watch over them, Haldir could tell that they respected one another, and that their bonds of kinship were strong. Furthermore, given that they had travelled all this way, over wide and hostile terrain, it was clear they had courage in their hearts—a trait Haldir admired.

Surprisingly enough, he was rather intrigued. Instead of a quiet life on the plains of Rohan, they chose to wander the wilds of Middle-earth, risking their lives for the sake of their village. So many leagues, he thought, so many perils. And yet they could still laugh and jest, as he had witnessed before the ambush, and then again last night, when the company had sat together, laughing over an embarrassing incident that had befallen the maid when she had been but a child.

Even now, they remained unaware that Haldir understood the Rohirric tongue, that his elven ears could overhear all that they said. Some might say he was lying by omission, but the company had made assumptions, and never bothered to ask. As for Haldir, he had only acted in the best interest of the realm, to ensure that this company was, in fact, being truthful—which he now felt certain they were. Now whether or not he would reveal the truth, Haldir had not yet decided. They might feel betrayed if they knew. No longer willing to trust the Elves, they might even become obstinate, making the task of leading them out of the forest harder than it needed to be.

"Strange this forest." Spoken on a wondrous murmur, the words drew his attention, making him slow once again. When Annalyn saw that Haldir was waiting for her, she erased the wonder from her face. With a neutral glance at the surrounding woods, she clarified, "I have never seen such trees before."

"You would not have," Haldir noted. " _Mallyrn_ are found nowhere else in Middle-earth."

"Nowhere?"

"Long ago, the Elves of Tol Eressëa brought these trees to Númenor where they grew near the Bay of Eldanna." As they walked on, Haldir noted that Aldin had brought his horse a little closer, as though he wished to listen in. "In later years, mallyrn-nuts were planted in Middle-earth, but only took root here, in Lothlórien."

"Lothlórien," Annalyn echoed, trying to match the elvish pronounciation. When her attempt fell short, however, soft laughter rose in her throat and she looked down. A blush of embarrassment had crept onto her cheeks. "I am afraid I can do no justice to your language."

The fact that she had tried pleased Haldir. "You did better than you think."

Her blush deepened at that, but then she gathered herself, and her features grew serious once more. "Long have I travelled the wilds. In Rohan, Eriador, and now Rhovanion, yet never had I beheld an Elf. At least not until yesterday." She was eyeing him now, assessing.

"Our dealings with outsiders are few and far between, it is true," Haldir offered in return. "In fact, it is long since strangers have crossed our borders."

They marched in silence for some time, edging the river as it flowed eastward. As the party started down a soft incline, Haldir noted the skill with which Annalyn sat in the saddle, how she used her core to balance herself instead of relying on the reins. Once her horse had negotiated the hill, and the forest floor had flattened out, Annalyn patted the animal's neck then ventured a question. "Looking at this forest, I have been trying to imagine where you all live, whether it is a village or a city. Could you tell me of it? Of your home?"

"It is not my custom to speak of Lórien with outsiders."

The maid stiffened at his apparent refusal. Evenly, she said, "I suppose I understand your caution. Forget I asked."

But unbeknownst to Annalyn, Haldir was mulling it over.

The race of Men was young, their lives so fleeting that the current generations had only ever seen the world as it now was. Not so for the Elves. The Galadhrim remembered. They lamented and regretted the fair places that had come and gone. And now, in the Third Age of this world, they dwelt in the one place in all of Middle-earth that had been forgotten by time, a place where the beauty of the past yet endured.

"You mistake my meaning," Haldir said at length. While he would never endanger his people by revealing too much, he supposed there was no harm in giving a vague description, especially since it was now clear to him that the maid posed no threat—the same for her kin. Moreover, instinct told him Annalyn had a good heart.

Even with her guarded expression, Haldir discerned an innate curiosity in her eyes, a genuine fascination with the living world around her. He liked that, and felt he could make an exception, this one time. "I do not usually speak of it, but I will do so now."

Her mouth curved in a soft smile.

Eyes returning to their path, Haldir told her of Caras Galadhon and its towering _mellyrn_ which grew upon a hill of green. As he went on, Annalyn listened with rapt attention, her eyes filled with wonder as he described the countless lights that could be seen among the boughs once night had fallen.

His feet carrying him in a leisurely stride, Haldir laid his palm on the horse's neck. As he spoke of his home, his thoughts were invariably drawn to the shadowy veil that was now falling upon Middle-earth. While evil and decay sought dominion over the world, Lothlórien stood as a beacon of good. But for how long, Haldir did not know. Light and dark. Love and sorrow. It seemed to him that the world would never again be as it once was. But this he kept to himself and chose instead to describe the living atmosphere in this fairest of land.

"It sounds like an incredible place," Annalyn said at last.

Haldir allowed a wistful smile. "It is."

* * *

Thus they marched, following the meandering river in a pace fit for a peaceful day. The sun warming her face, Annalyn swayed in the saddle, content to let her eyes drift upon the passing scenery.

 _Lothlórien_. Less than a day ago, it had been but a myth, a half-remembered fairy tale from her youth. But now…

It was real. She was here, traversing the outer edges with three of its guardians.

On a sidelong glance, Annalyn regarded the enigmatic Elf who kept pace alongside her horse. For some reason she could not explain, he did not seem as intimidating today. Perhaps it was because she was rested. Or then perhaps it was simply due to the fact that he could not stare down his nose at her while she sat high in the saddle.

If she was honest, Haldir's willingness to speak of the City of the Trees had surprised her a little. The more he had talked—describing a veritable dreamscape—the more she had felt something ease in her chest, as if an invisible rope of doubt had loosened, and could very well fall from her frame, if she let it.

Their conversation had long since dwindled, but instead of joining his brother at the front of the line, Haldir walked alongside her.

Intrigued, Annalyn allowed her gaze to linger on him, taking in details she hadn't noticed before. His bow, for instance, was coiled in delicate golden leaves. Similar patterns could be seen adorning his quiver and the long hilt of his blade. Ceasing her assessment of him, Annalyn tried to suppress her amusement. Even their weapons were beautiful.

"Is something amusing?" Haldir asked without even looking at her. When he finally glanced in her direction, there was a glint in his blue eyes. A blue so deep and dark, it reminded her of the night sky when the moon was at its fullest.

Not knowing what to say, Annalyn sidestepped, her gaze sweeping the landscape when she said, "Still not believing my eyes." Seemingly satisfied with that answer, he looked ahead, but not before she caught a furtive smile.

Sometime later, as their path led them closer to the river, Haldir spoke softly over his shoulder. "I know your homeland."

Surprise flitted across her face. "You have been to Rohan?"

"I have," he said then explained. "Although we rarely venture beyond our borders, some of us are sometimes sent abroad to scout the enemy or gather news."

A smirk found its way to her lips. "And which was it?" Of course, the answer seemed fairly obvious; she wouldn't have risked the question otherwise. "Were you in Rohan to scout the Eorlingas or for the gathering of news?"

"The latter," Haldir answered. "It was some time ago but I remember it well. Seas of grass as far as the eye could see."

Haldir was about to say more when something caught his eye, severing his line of thought.

At the front of the line, Rúmil had halted atop a small hill overlooking a wide bend in the river. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he surveyed the surface then looked to Haldir, nodding.

"We have reached the crossing," Haldir explained before excusing himself and hurrying ahead.

From her saddle, Annalyn watched as the brothers conferred quietly before approaching her uncle to give instructions. Flicking the reins, she urged her horse forward, and caught the tail-end of their discussion.

"…lessen the risk, it would be wise to lighten the load on your horses," Haldir was saying to Feran. "With your permission, my sentinels can carry the bulk of your supplies across the river. If this causes worry, I assure you they can do so with ease and will not lose your belongings."

Glancing over at his kin, her uncle relayed Haldir's offer. But the trepidation in his eyes could not be missed, and matched her own. Despite her thawing feelings toward the Elves, they remained strangers to Annalyn, and they had yet to earn her trust. What if they stole away with their belongings and deserted her company on this side?

But the crossing could be treacherous without their aid. What if something happened and one of her kin was swept away?

It was with that thought that Annalyn agreed with a reluctant nod.

Riding up beside her, Aldin did the same.

As the company dismounted, and started unfastening their supplies—their bedrolls, spare furs, a tent, their saddle-bags, a hunting bow, a pot and a pan, and so on—Haldir neared the river's edge, and gave a loud whistle. From the opposite side came the echo of clear voices, and then two sentinels appeared.

When Haldir issued his orders, he did so in that beautiful language of his. On the opposing bank, one of the Elves vanished, only to return a moment later with a large coil of grey rope.

With remarkable speed, the Elf scaled a young mallorn, and started along its lowermost limb, one that stretched out above the eddying water. Having stepped out as far as he dared, the sentinel held the end of the rope then tossed the remaining bundle across the breadth of the river. As it uncoiled in the air, Haldir caught the rope, before securing the end to a nearby tree, just above the roots. By that point, the Elf on the other side had reached the ground and was doing the same.

Satisfied that the rope was taut and secure, Haldir said something to his brothers, after which Rúmil and Orophin each fetched a bedroll and a saddle-bag, and made for the line that now stretched two feet or so above the water.

At first, Annalyn was unsure how they would proceed. But when they stepped out onto the rope and over the current, her eyes went wide, and she simply stood there, stunned by what she saw.

The rope might as well have been the ground, for their gait was unchanged, their balance so perfect they saw no need to extend their arms as they walked easily along the line. When the brothers had reached the opposing bank, the two set their burdens down, and double-backed, with the other two sentinels trailing in their wake.

As the Elves continued with their task, Annalyn and her kin watched in awed-silence. Their mouths slightly agape, they would exchange glances every now and again, as if to say, " _Is this real?_ " At last, when all their supplies had been carried to the other side, Haldir waited for his brothers. Once they had rejoined him, he turned to the company to ask if they were ready.

Answering that they were, Annalyn and her kin made for their mounts, only to halt when Haldir suggested they allow the horses to go forth without a rider on their back.

"The water runs swiftly here," he said, "and the riverbed slopes sharply on either side of the shoal. I believe it would be more prudent if the horses were unencumbered."

"I mean no disrespect, but we will not leave our horses," Feran said, much to Annalyn's relief.

"I stand with my father," Aldin said without pause or hesitation. "We ride across. If this shoal is as treacherous as you claim it to be, we will not let them venture into the water blindly, without a guiding hand."

"The choice is yours," Haldir replied. "But know that my brothers and I would follow on the rope, and remain alongside them while they navigate the shoal. We would not lead them astray."

But Feran was shaking his head. "I am sorry. We cannot risk it."

Annalyn raised her chin. In a firm but even tone, she concurred. "Cobalt is not crossing without me." Besides, how would her company get across? Certainly not by walking on a thin line of rope.

Following the unanimous decision, the Elves looked at one another. "Very well," Haldir conceded with an unreadable expression before addressing Feran. "I shall take the lead. As I follow the rope, keep to my right and proceed in a straight line, unless I say otherwise."

"Understood."

And so the company mounted their horses.

As Feran rode toward the river, Haldir started along the rope. After five or six steps, he looked over his shoulder, and called for her uncle to come forth. He did.

 _So this is it_. Haldir was about to fulfill the first half of his promise. Despite being gladdened and relieved, Annalyn remained subdued, for the Silverlode would not make it easy for them. Strong and unyielding, the current swirled and flowed beneath the rope, distorting the riverbed and hiding the shoal below. Well and so, the crossing might prove difficult, but it was not beyond hope, especially with their guides.

Her stomach in knots, Annalyn watched as her uncle guided his horse into the river. Abrax seemed reticent at first, but soon fell into step beside Haldir, his head bobbing as he walked into deeper and deeper water. The horse walked in a straight line at first, but when Haldir indicated a bend in the shoal, her uncle guided the animal so they wouldn't fall off. And so they ventured further and further still, until finally, to her profound relief, they reached the shallows again, and made it all the way across.

Releasing the breath she had been holding, Annalyn looked to Orophin who stood waiting by the water's edge.

Swallowing against the tightening in her throat, she hesitated a moment, while her horse pranced nervously beneath her frame. "You can do this, Cobalt." _We both can_.

Three or four steps ahead of her, Orophin proceeded along the rope, his eyes constantly searching the riverbed. Whenever her horse strayed a bit too close to a sharp slope, he would point it out to her. But the shoal was nearly impossible to see, and the language barrier remained.

"The shoal curves to your right!" Haldir translated from the other side.

With a nod of understanding, Annalyn proceeded as instructed, following the bend as best she could. By the time she neared the rope again, the water was well past the horse's knees, and it was getting deeper. Before long, the water reached the stirrups, swallowing her boots, and then her calves. _Good gracious me!_ Icy, needle-like pain shot straight to her bones, then came numbness, from her toes all the way to her knees. But though she wanted nothing more than to hurry across and escape the penetrating cold, Annalyn knew better than to rush.

Careful step by careful step, she and her horse made their way forward. But as they passed the midway point, things suddenly took a turn.

Cobalt started to panic.

Initially, he simply shied away, tossing his head and refusing to go on. "Easy." But the animal could not be soothed. Putting his ears back, he retreated backward, onto a sudden dip in the riverbed. "Cobalt, no!" Using her heels, Annalyn urged him forward, but it was no use.

Helpless, she gripped the reins as the horse rose on his hind legs. From either side of the river, she could hear her uncle and cousin shouting her name, their voices mere echoes against her eardrums. To her horror, the horse staggered back again, and slipped into deeper water. The current now swirled around her torso, the cold so piercing it knocked the air out of her.

The dreadful moment hung there, as if time itself was hindered by a tightly woven sieve. As her awareness revolved around her seizing muscles, her panicked horse, and the deadly water around them, Annalyn realised that Orophin was still there. From the rope, he was trying to calm the animal. His efforts seemed fruitful at first, and Cobalt regained his footing. But as the water pushed against his side, the horse's fear crested anew. Despite all they tried, the animal could not be controlled.

When all seemed lost, Annalyn heard someone yelling her name. It was Orophin. Hand outstretched, he stood ready to yank her off her horse and onto the relative safety of the rope.

"No," she said breathlessly then cried in turn. "No!" _I will not leave my horse to drown!_

Cobalt rose up again, and neighed in despair. They were done for. The current caused him to shift sideways. Helpless, Annalyn could only hang on to the reins and wait for the water to carry them away. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw movement ahead. For the briefest of instants she glanced up and saw that Haldir was running across the rope to join them.

When the splash sounded, she realised he had jumped into the water, with one hand clamped upon the rope—his only lifeline.

With water up to his chest, he fought the current, taking care not to let go. As the river rushed around him, sweeping his cloak to one side, Haldir made for the horse, and began to speak, softly, evenly, uttering words she could not understand.

Cobalt kicked up a few times, splattering water as his front legs broke the surface. Haldir did not flinch, however, simply kept on speaking, taking one step, then another, while his free hand rose oh so slowly to touch the horse's muzzle.

Whether he was going purely by instinct, or else it was some sort of elvish magic, Annalyn could not say. Whatever it was, it worked. Little by little, a calm came over her horse, and Cobalt started moving again, forward this time. After a few tries, he even managed to climb onto the shoal. Eyes wide, pulse still racing, Annalyn looked to Haldir who remained in the water.

"Are you well?" he asked her.

With chattering teeth, she opened her mouth to speak, but her answer sounded meek to her ears. "Yes. Are you?"

He merely nodded. His eyes fixed onto hers, Haldir reached for the reins. "Allow me?" Either he was unaffected by the cold, or else he was adept at hiding it, but his voice was smooth and even.

Assenting to his request, Annalyn handed over the lead, while her other hand seized the pommel of her saddle.

The river rushing around his chest, Haldir led them toward the bank with slow, bracing steps. Before she knew it, they had reached the shallows, then the bank. Desperate to feel the ground beneath her feet, Annalyn dismounted at once, and stroked the horse's muzzle. _Poor beast_ , she thought, then leaned her head against his.

"Annalyn."

At the sound of her name, she looked to her left and saw that her uncle had gotten down from his horse, and was now closing the distance, his boots crunching pebbles as he hurried past the other sentinels. Once his arms had closed about her shivering shoulders, he drew a long inhalation. "You gave me quite a fright for a moment."

His words mirrored her own thoughts, for she had been frightened as well. Terrified even. Instead of voicing this, however, Annalyn eased away and managed a small smile. "We made it." _That is all that matters_.

Wanting to thank the Elf who had come to her aid, she turned, but saw that Haldir was already on the rope. Along with Orophin, he kept a careful watch over Aldin and Rúmil, ready to help should the need arise.

It was reassuring to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank each and every one of you for reading my story. It means a lot.


	5. Branching Paths

**CHAPTER V**

**BRANCHING PATHS**

Night was falling on the Golden Wood, the stars emerging one by one as the last hints of pink faded beyond the tree line.

In a glade near the outskirts of the forest, the company settled in for what would be their final night in the woods of Lothlórien. Sitting with her back to a tree, a silver lamp by her side, Annalyn drew a long breath. She was weary but, having changed into dry clothing, no longer felt the cold. A restful end to a harrowing day.

In all of her travels, the past two days would undoubtedly be among the most memorable. _Ambushed by Elves_ , she thought with amusement. Her eyes seeking and finding their unlikely companions, Annalyn had to own that they had been more than helpful. Especially Haldir. Had it not been for him, she and Cobalt would have undoubtedly been swept away by the river today.

At present, he was crouched by her uncle and cousin, his brow arched in curiosity as he pondered Aldin's longsword. Turning the blade over, he examined the hilt, then showed it to his brothers who were standing close by.

The sight brought a smile to her lips. _How quickly things change_. Just yesterday, she had feared these Elves. But her fear had soon turned to caution, which in turn had morphed into genuine respect.

Across the glade, Aldin had sheathed his longsword, and was now sitting cross-legged on the ground. His father and the Elves had joined him—though Haldir remained standing. Together they formed a loose circle, their features lit by lanterns rather than a fire.

As was his wont, Aldin soon launched into one of his many tales, pausing only to give Haldir a chance to translate for his brothers. As reserved as they were, the Elves appeared to find delight in his stories. And despite her current weariness, Annalyn did, too. But as she watched and listened, her attention gravitated toward Haldir. She could see no trace of the coldness he had showed them yesterday, most of which had been directed at Aldin who had made the mistake of nearly felling a mallorn.

Though her cousin hadn't known it at the time, it had been a grave error on his part, one that might have cost them dearly. During their ride today, as Haldir had told her of the mallorn-trees, explaining that they grew nowhere else in Middle-earth, Aldin had spurred his horse a little closer so he might listen. Upon learning just how rare and precious they were, her cousin had been genuinely ashamed, so much so that he had approached Haldir earlier in the evening, right after making camp.

" _The trees_ ," he had said with genuine contrition. " _I had no idea. Forgive me_."

From what she could tell, Haldir had found it in himself to forgive him. Not with words, but with a solemn look followed by a single nod.

The evening wore on. Aldin was now telling a story about the Mearas, the wild horses of Rohan that surpassed all others, and bore none but the Kings of the Mark.

As Haldir translated the end of the tale, Annalyn watched him from afar. She would never openly admit it, but he cut quite a figure as he stood by one of those great silver trees, his profile lined in lamplight. His noble features were not as delicate as his brothers', she noted, but there was a strong and stoic beauty to him, this warrior captain of the Galadhrim.

Smiling a private smile, Annalyn heaved a sigh and pivoted her head against the tree trunk. Her gaze trained to the west, her thoughts turned to the next leg of her journey. Somewhere beyond those trees were the Misty Mountains. Whether they would bear fruit, Annalyn did not know.

For the past three years or so, the plants they coveted had become harder and harder to find, forcing them into unfamiliar lands. It was quite disheartening at times, for all of them. Oh they seldom spoke of it, but they knew: something was amiss in Middle-earth. And though none of them could discern the cause, it weighed heavy on their minds.

"You are not with the others." The words were low and discreet, ushering her into the here and now.

Setting her sombre musings aside, Annalyn smiled as Haldir approached a nearby tree and leaned against it. He, too, had changed his clothing after the crossing, his grey tunic slightly different in the way it crossed at the front. As he stared up into the sky, he propped his foot against a protruding root, his bow hanging at his side.

"It is a clear night," was her reply. "I wished to look at the stars." It was not the entire truth, but it was not a lie either. It was peaceful out here, and she was going to enjoy it while she could.

"It is a good night to do so," he agreed then declared, "for dawn will bring rain."

"You believe so?" Intrigued, she looked to the skies, but saw not even a hint of cloud.

For a moment, they watched the heavens in silence, but as a firefly fluttered past them, Annalyn spoke once more. "I wish to thank you for what you did today. Were it not for you… Well…" Heat rose to her cheeks.

Haldir's reply came by way of a nod, delivered as his eyes momentarily locked onto hers. When he looked to the sky once more, Annalyn remained as she was.

She was staring again, wondering.

Elves. They were mysterious to her. They seemed serene and wise, but also guarded, with a lingering air of weariness about them.

They were brave. Of that she was certain.

Night deepened. With the day's events at the fore of her thoughts, Annalyn pondered a question that had been nagging her since they had left the river. "You say you have travelled to my homeland," she began, netting Haldir's attention. "If you are no stranger to the Mark, then you must know how my people value their steeds. Horse Masters we are often called. But the way you managed to soothe Cobalt today… I must say, you have quite the skill. Never have I seen anything like it. What is your secret?"

There was a pause. Haldir appeared to weigh his words. "To connect with a horse, or any other animal, one must first speak their language."

Vague though it was, his answer piqued her interest even more. She would have prodded further if Haldir had not changed the subject. "I received word from one of our patrols this morning," he said. "They reported seeing a small band of Orcs near the base of the mountains, sometime late last night."

Annalyn frowned upon hearing this.

Haldir continued, "It is unclear how many more are out there, but I would advise caution once you leave these woods."

Though it was not what she wished to hear, it came as no surprise to Annalyn. "We have dealt with Orcs before. We know how to avoid them." Her gaze straying across the glade, she pondered her kin for a troubled moment. "Does my uncle know?"

"I relayed the news to him."

 _Good_ , she thought, but simply nodded.

Across camp, her uncle had risen, and was now standing near the edge of the forest. A short distance away, Aldin was wrapping himself into his blanket. _Another night, another watch_ , Annalyn thought before excusing herself and gathering her own things.

Once wrapped in her blanket, she drew a sigh and closed her eyes. As her limbs became slack, Annalyn's thoughts began to wander. Her breathing slowed. She fell into dreamless sleep.

* * *

The watch was uneventful, the night peaceful and swift. As it gave way to a pale grey morning, Annalyn looked to the skies with a certain amount of amazement. Haldir had spoken truly. It was indeed going to rain today.

Once they had eaten, the company gathered their things and saddled their horses. By the time they were underway, a fine misty rain had begun to fall.

As tiny droplets pearled on her hair and shoulders, Annalyn drew up her hood, and cast a lingering look at the passing scenery. _Goodbye, fair Lothlórien_. Even in the rain it was beautiful.

Just like the previous day, Haldir and Rúmil were at the front of the line, whilst Orophin brought up the rear. The top portion of their hair was still gathered in a neat braid, but the remaining locks now fell in a damp curtain about their broad shoulders. Not surprisingly, none of them seemed particularly bothered by the rain. They walked with fluid assurance, their gazes fixed not on the immediate trail but on the forest before them.

Gradually, the tallest _mallyrn_ fell away behind them, and were replaced by smaller ones mingled with other species of trees. They were leaving the elven woods.

What had started as a light drizzle became a downpour, the pattering strong and constant as fat rain battered the leaves. Hunched in her saddle, Annalyn spied what looked to be a wide open space ahead.

 _Thus we return to the real world_. As Haldir halted in his tracks, she sighed and pulled on the reins. He was looking to the boughs. His hand rising to the side of his mouth, he gave that low whistle again.

In the span of a few heartbeats, the forest came alive as one, two, three Elves appeared among the branches. With smooth movements, they dropped from their perches, and reported to Haldir. Pointing north and west, they seemed to be relaying news from beyond the realm.

As the Elves talked amongst themselves, Annalyn and Aldin guided their horses nearer to Feran.

"We may be leaving a fair land," the older man said as if to himself, "but the mountains will be a welcome sight as well." Smiling, he looked to Aldin and Annalyn. "Perhaps chance will be with us this time."

"It will be," she replied with conviction.

Glancing ahead, Annalyn saw that Haldir was looking in their direction. With a wave of his arm, he indicated they should follow him. They did, with the newly arrived sentinels doing the same.

Along with the Elves, the company left the forest behind, and emerged into a wide valley carpeted by grass, rocks, and the occasional shrub. To their left, stretching in a northward direction as far as the eye could see, were the Misty Mountains.

Riding forth for a few paces, Annalyn and her kin pondered the landscape for a long moment. Indeed, it was good seeing the mountains again. Alas, the moment was bittersweet.

Throwing a glance over her shoulder, Annalyn saw the Elves standing on the eaves of the woods, waiting. The time had come to bid them farewell.

Along with her kin, Annalyn dismounted, the soles of her boots splashing on wet grass. Lead in hand, the travellers approached their elven guides.

"So this is where we part ways." Feran clasped Haldir's arm then thanked him for his help in crossing the Silverlode.

Bowing his head, Haldir looked to each of them in turn. "May fortune be upon you," he said, but added, "If I may, I would advise you avoid _Nanduhirion_. You might know it as the Dimrill Dale." Pointing westward, he indicated a barren area between a series of mountain ridges. "That part of the valley has grown perilous, for Orcs now dwell in the ancient mines of Moria."

"We will heed your words." Feran nodded then said his goodbyes.

Once Aldin and Annalyn had done the same, Haldir bid them farewell in his own tongue. " _Novaer_ ," he said.

And so they went.

Once they had mounted their horses, Annalyn threw a lingering gaze over her shoulder, and saw that Haldir was watching them. In spite of the miserable conditions, he held her eyes, lifted his hand in farewell, and gave what might have been a smile.

Smiling wistfully in turn, Annalyn waved one last time. As she did so, some of the Elves bowed their heads then turned away. One by one, they vanished into the forest, until only Haldir and his brothers remained.

"We should pick up the pace." Feran's voice carried over the pattering rain, causing Annalyn to look his way. "We have a long ride ahead."

He was right. With such heavy cloud cover, daylight would fade quickly today.

With a flick of the reins, Annalyn clicked her tongue and urged her horse into a more vigorous walk. Then, as they rounded a cluster of rocks, she threw one last look at the dwindling forest behind them. For a fleeting instant, Annalyn thought she saw movement, but then nothing.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

The Elves had gone.


	6. Trouble on the Horizon

**CHAPTER VI**

**TROUBLE ON THE HORIZON**

The stars were out and the leaves were still, yet things were far from calm on the borders of Lothlórien. Trouble was stirring on this night, the quiet severed by the rhythmic pounding of iron-clad feet. Earlier in the evening, Orcs had come down from the mountains, and were now encroaching upon the Golden Wood.

"Come on, maggots! Move it!" The offensive voice carried through the branches, reaching the Galadhrim who hid among them.

Crouched on a tree-limb, his bow in readiness, Haldir observed the Orcs through narrowed eyes, and tallied their numbers. _Seventy-four._ His mouth set in a thin line, he glanced at his brothers who were waiting on a _talan_ over in the next tree. With a subtle wave of his hand, Haldir indicated that it was time. They nodded.

Swiftly and quietly, they made their way to the forest floor, where they spread out in different directions. Keeping to the shadows, the brothers encircled the intruders at a safe distance, then deliberately started to make noise—whether by laughing, talking with feigned voices, or moving loudly amongst the branches.

"What was that?" one of the Orcs asked.

Angling his head to the side, another Orc sniffed the air and listened. "Elves," he said at last, his voice filled with bloodlust.

"Filthy cravens!" one of them cried. "Always sneaking, always hiding. Tonight we feast on Elf flesh!"

This idea was met with raucous laughter and the loud thumping of blade against shield. "Yes, yes," another one agreed.

 _Curse the Orcs and their foulness_ , Haldir thought as he slipped further into the night. Hoping to lure them away from the realm, he shook a leafy branch and spoke loudly, goading them with insults of his own.

It worked. _They are as stupid as they are ugly_.

Night deepened and the Orcs were led further north and west. It was a confusing trail, winding this way and that. But it was also deliberate. As they hunted for the Elves, with rough and dirty scimitars, the Orcs were unwittingly drawn into a carefully laid trap.

By the time they realised what was happening, it was already too late.

"Argh!" one of them cried, hand flying to the arrow skewering its neck.

The Orcs were caught, wedged between a sizeable company of Elves. It was chaotic at first, the air filled with shrill cries, death rattles, and the persistent song of flying arrows. Yet above the blood and the disarray, order and precision reigned in the trees. Volley after volley, the Elves loosed their arrows in unison. And once their quivers were restocked, Haldir gave the order again. " _Leithio i philinn!_ "

Bowstrings were released. Then more cries from down below. As the surviving Orcs scurried in search of cover, shooting crude arrows of their own, the elven patrols moved to encircle them.

Haldir had just killed an Orc and was aiming for another when he heard a swift oscillating sound. Instinct had him moving to the right. His hair stirred, a light gust of wind fanned the underside of his jaw. No sooner had the arrow whizzed by, narrowly missing his jugular, than Haldir shot back, hitting true and killing the Orc who had sought to shoot him down.

All the while, in the surrounding _mallyrn_ , his soldiers were readying another volley with speed and skill unmatched. Their bows sang, and their aim was true. Less than forty Orcs remained. Thirty-two. Twenty-six.

It would be a swift victory, Haldir thought, and shot once more.

" _Telir yrch!_ " A familiar voice echoed amid the battle. It was Celegon, one of the sentinels who had been charged with watching the valley. "Orcs are coming!" he said again.

"How many?" Haldir demanded.

"A hundred at the least," Celegon answered as he paused to shoot at the enemy. "They are crossing the border as we speak. We need reinforcements."

Troubled by this news, Haldir called for Ninael, one of his most trusted soldiers.

"Over here." Ninael nocked another arrow, her feral gaze trained on the few remaining Orcs who were now trying to scale the trees.

"I trust you can dispatch this filthy lot?" Haldir asked her and jerked his chin toward the Orcs below.

Ninael flashed a white grin, and shot once more. "We will see it done." Sable hair shining in the moonlight, she then motioned to her patrol. "You heard the Marchwarden! Let them rue the night they set foot in these woods!"

And so, as Ninael's patrol rained death upon the doomed creatures below, Haldir rallied the rest of his soldiers, ordering them to the west.

By the time they had reached the outer fences, the Orcs' numbers had fallen, though not by much. With newly-arrived support, however, the Elves soon gained the upper hand. Before long, less than fifty Orcs remained.

"Evil fate, I have run out of arrows again," Haldir heard Orophin say from a nearby tree. And he was not the only one who was running low.

But Celegon, having foreseen the shortage, had gone to fetch more bundles, and was now passing them out, tossing them from where they had been hidden, in the uppermost reaches of the trees.

"Haldir!" Rúmil was pointing to the forest floor, where a group of Orcs were clustered near the base of a tree, their shields raised around them as they worked in concert—to what end, Haldir could not tell, until a flickering flash revealed their intent.

"They are setting fire to the mallorn!" Orophin yelled.

The Elves loosed more arrows, but the creatures' shields formed a protective barrier.

A short distance away, Rúmil had anticipated Haldir's next command. His bow slung upon his back, he was already moving, his hand going to his scabbard, when Haldir ordered, "Swords!"

Beautiful, polished blades rang free.

Unsurprisingly Rúmil was the first to reach the ground. But then, he had never been one to wait. His eyes were wild, his sword moving in swift patterns. It spoke of his eagerness as a soldier, and his hatred for the Orcs. Nevertheless, as impatient as he could be at times, Rúmil was not a reckless fool. Like all who served on the fences, he was capable and disciplined. If Haldir had given the order to wait, he would have heeded his command. He always did.

That being said, Rúmil had been right in charging down. Orcs were destructive enough on their own, but fire… Fire was another beast altogether.

The Elves fell upon the Orcs at once. Getting past their shields, Haldir and his soldiers felled the creatures with ease, but not before the Orcs had achieved their aim.

Fire had already taken hold.

"The roots are covered in pitch!" Rúmil yelled, his stricken features lit by the flames which were now licking their way up the trunk.

"Water! Now!" Haldir bellowed then whistled for reinforcements. His soldiers wasted no time.

Having trained for just such instances, a group of thirty sentinels assembled to form a chain between the fire and the nearest water source, while above them, a separate patrol had gone to fetch buckets, which were now being tossed into awaiting hands. On the ground, Haldir, his brothers, and a dozen other soldiers remained focused on the battle.

For a mercy, most of the Orcs were dead at this point. Once the Elves had achieved victory and all the orcs had been slain, Haldir shifted his attention to this newest threat. If left unchecked, the fire could soon get out of hand, decimating these woods. Even now it was snaking up the tree, and spreading about the ground near the burning roots.

With stern efficiency, Haldir coordinated the effort. As more Elves arrived, one chain became two, then three. When the first buckets arrived, Haldir joined one of the lines. At the forefront, he reached for the bucket that was handed to him, and promptly tossed its contents onto the fire. Heat and steam assailed him, the acrid smell of smoke filling his nostrils.

And so the Elves fought the flames, one bucket at a time, until finally, the fire lessened then died out. At first light, all that remained of the assault was the lingering smell of smoke and scattered piles of Orc carcasses.

The rising sun at his back, Haldir surveyed the offensive heaps. His lip curled in disgust, he turned away, and addressed the Galadhrim who were waiting nearby. "Dispose of them in the valley. They have soiled these woods long enough."

His attention shifting to more immediate concerns, Haldir left them to their task. As he walked past the injured mallorn, however, his sorrowful gaze lingered upon its charred skin. With slowing steps, Haldir stopped near its base, his hand rising to graze the bole. The mallorn's roots and trunk were blackened, while up above, its lowermost leaves were shrivelled to a dry crisp. It was a wonder they had not ignited.

Grieved by the sight of the injured tree, Haldir stood motionless, until Orophin came to stand alongside him, echoing his anger by saying, "Curse those creatures."

As his brother surveyed the tree, Haldir saw the same grief in his profile.

"The mallorn lives," Orophin noted as he, too, touched the trunk.

"The tree is alive," Haldir concurred, sighing. "But I feel its pain. It is weeping. Do you hear it?"

Orophin gave a sorrowful nod.

When two soldiers passed by, Haldir asked that additional water be brought to the mallorn. "See that it drinks deep. But make certain it receives words of comfort as well. This tree is suffering."

Having other duties to attend to, Haldir and Orophin left the wounded tree, and made for a nearby _talan_ , where three other sentinels were waiting.

"What news from our patrols?" Haldir asked once he had climbed onto the platform. It was a daily custom, for as Marchwarden, he was kept apprised of any activity near and within the northern borders.

"Naught but ill tidings, I am afraid," one of them answered. And what he had to say was troubling. For the third time this fortnight, a large number of Orcs and Warg-riders had been seen coming up from the south. "Some of them branched off in the direction of Moria," he continued gravely. "The remaining host continued north at great speed."

The news was unsettling. As it sank in, Haldir walked to the edge of the flet, and turned his gaze westward. Moria. The Black Chasm. It was long since Orcs had settled in that accursed place. And longer still since the Dwarves who had carved its halls had dug too deep, unearthing a foe so terrible the miners had been forced to flee, abandoning their work and their home, leaving it open for more evil to creep in.

The effect of that flight had been long-reaching, and could still be felt to this day. Not only in the mountains, but here in Lórien. Indeed, many of the Elves had fled in those days, fearing the ancient evil that had awoken so close to their borders. For his part, Haldir would never forget those sorrowful years, and the exodus that had changed not only the ruling structure of the realm, but his own role within it.

To be sure, it had been a tumultuous time for his kindred. And many had lost their lives. Such change. Such loss.

But now, after centuries of watchful calm broken only by the occasional skirmish, it seemed to Haldir that darkness was spreading about the land once again, deepening the shadows.

Eyes on the west, his troubled musings remained on Moria. Things were definitely stirring in that desolate place. Dark things. Sometimes, when the air was still, elven patrols reported hearing a faint drumming from the depths. It troubled him greatly, for the Orcs were growing bolder. _And their numbers are growing_.

"What are your thoughts?" Orophin asked as he joined his brother.

Haldir was silent for a moment. If he was honest, he had felt it for a good while now: a deep sense of foreboding. "Evil is gathering. That much is clear."

And so began another day on the borders of Lothlórien. Since Orcs were not overfond of sunlight, the watch proved rather quiet. At midday, while his brothers enjoyed the simple yet flavourful fare of the Galadhrim, Haldir stood at one end of the flet, his gaze lost to the immediate horizon.

"Will you not eat, brother?" Rúmil asked from where he sat. Though he looked youthful—and was indeed much younger than Haldir and Orophin—Rúmil's appearance was rather deceiving, for he was over a thousand years old.

Haldir met his eyes. "In a while." In truth, he was preoccupied, his mind seeking to make sense of the enemy's movements. _What purpose drives them north?_

A warm wind swept among the trees just then, stirring the leaves and the saplings that grew on the forest floor. His gaze falling to a trembling patch of _mallos_ , Haldir's musings turned to a certain maid from Rohan.

In the time since Annalyn and her kin had left the Golden Wood—more than a fortnight ago—Haldir had sometimes thought of them, wondered how they fared. Wherever they were, he hoped they had eluded the enemy.

"Someone is coming." Orophin rose to his feet.

True enough, someone was marching in from the east.

"Thannor," Haldir said with slight puzzlement then went to meet him. "You are far from the city, my friend."

A long-time soldier in the Galadhrim, Thannor was not presently assigned to the borders, but rather to the city gates.

"What can I say," the guard said with a broadening smile. "I missed the woods, and was growing restless in the city."

As Haldir clasped his arm, Thannor went on, "I was coming off-duty when I learned that a courier was needed. I volunteered."

"You come bearing a message, then?"

"Your presence is required in the city," he stated then handed the summons from the Lord and the Lady who no doubt wished to discuss all that had happened on the borders of late.

Haldir gave a nod. "Very well. I shall arrange for my replacement and will leave at once."

* * *

And so it was that Haldir travelled to the great elven city.

When he finally strode through the gates, nearly a day after setting out, a bright morning sun was shining upon the towering _mallyrn_ at the heart of Caras Galadhon.

Three thousand years he had lived here, yet it never failed to take his breath away—a city of silver and gold, of bridges and stairs and dwellings strewn like pearls amongst the great trees.

Wasting no time, Haldir traversed many winding paths, passing fountains and stone statues as he went. At length, he came to a series of steps leading to the top of the hill upon which grew the mightiest mallorn of all.

When at last he had reached the top of the long, winding stair which was wrapped about the bole of the tree, Haldir was met by the rulers of Lórien. Bowing low, he greeted them with the reverence they were due, then watched as they stepped forth, their hands linked between them.

"Welcome. We have been expecting you," Lord Celeborn said before looking to his wife.

"Come," Galadriel told Haldir, "we have much to discuss."

With that, the rulers turned and stepped through the threshold of their large dwelling. Haldir trailed after them.

When it came to Lothlórien and its surrounding lands, little escaped the knowledge of the Lord and Lady of the Wood. As it was, they were aware of the Orcs' latest incursions, as well as the marching hosts and their northern route. The latter seemed most troubling to them.

Sitting in a chair beside her husband, the Lady of Light beheld her Marchwarden. "Evil stirs beyond our borders, in lands both near and far. A menace is gathering." Her voice was grave, her eyes even more so. "I have seen it. I have felt it. And I fear that it is but a prelude to even darker times."

Silence fell. If Lady Galadriel knew more, she did not say.

Their features bathed in the soft light of the room, the Lord and the Lady exchanged a knowing look. Then, as Galadriel nodded, Celeborn said, "We have seen many things, it is true. Yet there is much we do not know."

When next he spoke, the purpose of this council was made clear. "You have travelled abroad in the past," Celeborn said to Haldir. "You know the land as well as the enemy."

Haldir raised his chin. "You wish for me to follow them, and see what they are about." It was a statement rather than a question.

The Lord and the Lady nodded once, in unison.

His hand rising to his chest, Haldir gave a small bow. "I shall not fail you."


	7. The Long Wait

**CHAPTER VII**

**THE LONG WAIT**

"Not bad for a day's work." Aldin was beaming, his gaze directed at the plants they had gathered in the foothills earlier in the day. Presently, they hung on a makeshift drying frame, the leaves fluttering in the early evening breeze.

Although the company was tired from toil, the mood in camp was cheerful. After all, it had been a good while since they had stumbled upon a healthy patch of _gearwe_. Elusive and short-lived, this curative plant was often used in the cleansing of wounds. When stored properly, it could retain its potency for up to five years, making it a much coveted remedy for the villagers back home.

"And now we wait," Annalyn said in reference to the time it would take for the plants to dry. Along with her cousin, she sat by a small fire on a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley. Behind them stood a grove of pine trees, over which loomed the towering peaks of the Misty Mountains.

While Aldin stoked the fire, Annalyn glanced at the skies. _Clear as glass_ , she thought. "The weather seems to be on our side. Let us hope it holds."

Ever the optimist, Aldin looked up and said, "I have a feeling it will." But Annalyn was not so sure. The weather was bound to turn at some point. And it had been fair for many days now. The last they had seen of rain had been when they had left the woods of Lothlórien, more than a fortnight ago.

As she sat beneath the gathering twilight, Annalyn's mind wandered back to Haldir. It often did. Enigmatic and brave, he had piqued her curiosity. There was much she didn't know about him and Elves in general. She wished there'd been more time.

The fire popped and crackled, the flames licking the sides of the cooking pot. Looking rather famished, Aldin stirred their supper, inhaled deeply. "The stew smells good."

Content to watch the simmering repast, the two fell into a comfortable silence. After a time, Annalyn's gaze drifted to her uncle. Feran had been sitting alone for some time now, busying himself with his favourite pastime: carving wooden pipes. It was something he did every now and again, especially after a productive day.

The sight was endearing.

"Fashioning another one, is he?" Aldin chuckled. "Do you suppose he will ever smoke?" As much as Feran enjoyed making pipes, he never smoked himself, something they both found amusing.

"Who knows?" Annalyn replied before checking on their meal. "This is ready, I would say." Looking to her uncle, she called him over, but he did not move to join them. Instead, Feran had set his carving down and was now sitting much straighter, his eyes trained eastward as though he had spotted something in the distance.

He seemed… alarmed.

Aldin and Annalyn stood at once.

Before either of them could utter a word, Feran made his way over. His brows were furrowed, and there was a note of urgency in his gait.

"What did you see?" Aldin inquired.

Instead of replying, the older man removed the cooking pot from the fire, then promptly extinguished the flames. "There will be no fire tonight," he said once he had straightened. His mouth set in a grim line, Feran looked to the east once again, his voice low when he added, "We are not alone out here."

* * *

Orcs were not light-footed. Their iron-shod feet left deep impressions in the ground, easy to track, even for Men and Dwarves.

Sometime before daybreak, on the fourth day of his journey, Haldir stood atop a grass-covered mound. His eyes turned north to see the enemy's path. It stretched in a long, sinuous route and leagues away, he thought he saw the filthy mob itself.

 _There you are_. A moving sea of shadows in the night. Haldir resumed his pursuit. Down and down he went. As he ran, tall mountains loomed to his left. At their feet was a narrow band of trees, mostly evergreens. The Orcs, he noticed, kept relatively close to them.

At first light, the horde scurried toward the foothills, where they would most likely hide for the remainder of the day.

When the sun had cleared the horizon, Haldir stopped for a brief rest. After rummaging through his pack, he removed a piece of _lembas_ from its leaf-wrappings, and took a small bite before wrapping it again.

As a mild easterly wind arose, Haldir studied the land and the trampled path left by the Orcs. Thus far, the enemy's route had yielded few clues. Perhaps they were headed for the northern tail of the Misty Mountains. Or maybe the hordes would turn east at some point, and make for Mirkwood. While it was impossible to say at this point, their tracks suggested a purposeful route, and a purpose. And with Orcs, it could only be dark.

Haldir slung his pack over his shoulder, and looked up. The sky was a piercing blue and the sun was climbing higher. _I have lingered long enough_. He was moving again, traversing the land with long and steady strides. Somewhere in the foothills, the Orcs remained hidden.

* * *

Five days had passed since Annalyn and her kin had spotted a marching host, faraway in the gathering gloom. Not knowing whom or what they might be, they had taken care to pass unnoticed themselves. Upon seeing them, they'd extinguished their campfire and taken refuge in the tree line, hoping to stay out of sight. In the darkness, they had watched the moving cluster of shadows, holding their breaths, until the host had all but disappeared in the north.

Still, they remained on alert. At first light on the morning following the passing, Annalyn and her kin had moved their drying rack to the eaves of the forest and concealed it with felled branches and small trees. They talked of continuing their journey but hesitated since the host had marched in the direction they meant to take. To stay seemed like the sensible thing to do.

Throughout that first day, they had napped in turn and kept their fire low. Although they suspected fell creatures, none of them had been entirely certain of what they had seen.

Come two nights later, as they had sat in quiet vigilance, another host had marched up from the south, this time much closer.

"Orcs," Feran had whispered and no one had spoken after that.

Although Annalyn and her kinsmen were no strangers to Orcs, the size of the forces had unsettled their company. These were not small, isolated bands. They were travelling in hordes. Hundreds of them at a time.

"Do you see anything?" Annalyn asked in hushed tones as she neared her uncle. It was night. Feran had taken the first watch and was now sitting on a boulder on the very edge of the forest.

"Naught but grass and rocks, for a mercy," he answered and met her eyes when she sat beside him. "You cannot sleep?"

Annalyn shook her head.

The air was incredibly still on this night—still but not peaceful. The company was on edge, more so than they had been in a long time. As her uncle surveyed the moonlit valley below, Annalyn looked sidelong at him, saw the worry on his weathered face. It was true that, by nature, Feran had always been a man of few words. But over these past few days, he had grown increasingly quiet. Too quiet. And his brooding troubled her.

They sat in silence for what seemed a long time. Finally, Feran drew a sigh, murmured, "What's become of this land, Annalyn?"

She had often asked herself that very same question. And though she wanted to say it was a passing thing, that soon the Orcs would retreat into the shadows and all would be well again, she could not see into the future, nor divine the cause of… whatever was happening in the world. "I wish I knew."

Uncertainty and peril were ever present these days, and it filled their hearts with disquiet. Yet, even now, deep within her being, Annalyn clung to hope. She was likely deluding herself, but it was easier to believe that things would get better than to contemplate the alternative.

"What are we doing out here?" Feran's words severed her thoughts and took her aback.

When she failed to answer, he went on. "Look where I've brought us. We're far off in the north, sundered from everything and everyone while Orcs spread about the land in growing numbers."

"You've led us well," Annalyn countered with conviction. Gesturing to the drying plants nearby, she continued, "Look at what we have gathered these past few days."

"We've been fortunate this time around, it is true. But the land does not provide like it used to. We both know this."

He was silent for a moment. She had never seen such doubt in his eyes.

He said, "I was thinking that after this, we could head home, spend the winter back on the Westfold."

The winter on the Westfold. That would mean they would be skipping their yearly ride south, along the White Mountains, toward Edoras. "Maybe we could stay in the village a while."

Her heart clenched a little, for something in his voice told her that he meant much longer than just _a while_.

"I'm no longer a young man, Annalyn," he continued before she could say aught else. "Besides, I have not been fair to you and Aldin. You are both of an age to settle down, and have families of your own."

 _Settling down_ , she thought ruefully, remembering a time when she had briefly considered such a life. It felt like ages ago. _Before I learned my lesson_.

Sighing, Annalyn discarded her present line of thought and chose another. While she could not answer for Aldin, she was here because she wanted to be. "Remember when I asked, or rather begged, to come with you after…" Annalyn allowed the sentence to trail.

They both remembered that awful summer, when a sickness had swept through their village, taking many of their people with it, including Annalyn's aunt and her parents. She had been ten and seven years at the time.

"I remember," Feran said. His mouth curved in sad reminiscence. "You refused to take no for an answer."

Annalyn returned his smile, her voice a mere whisper when she said, "That I did." Her hand reaching for his, she held his gaze. "And I have never looked back." Ten years had passed since that ill-fated summer. Ten years of wandering and discovering, of seeing mountains and places most village-folk had never even heard of.

Loss had spurred her feet at first, it was true, but Annalyn had come to realise something over these long years. Home was not one place, but rather it was many things, like the feeling one gets when watching the sun break over the horizon, or the familiarity of the night sky and all the stars contained therein. Home was warmth. It was laughter, _time_ spent with loved ones. And time spent out here—barring when Orcs were around.

Indeed, Annalyn had grown quite fond of the wilds, of wide open spaces bordered by snow-capped peaks. But if her uncle was truly growing weary, if he wished to stay on the Westfold to live out his days in peace… She would respect that. She had to. But as for her…

 _There is yet time to ponder and decide_. At any rate, this was the dead of night, and they were both tired—not the best time to make such a heavy decision.

"It is late," Annalyn told him. "You should sleep. I shall keep watch for a while."

But Feran remained as he was, staring at her with something akin to guilt.

"What's wrong, uncle?"

"Nothing," he said then amended, quietly. "Well, no. That is a lie. There is something. You might not realise this, but I have been quite selfish over the years. It is high time I asked for forgiveness and gave you my thanks."

"Forgiveness?" But that seemed absurd. "Whatever for?"

Feran stared at the valley, his tone sombre when he said, "Just now, you spoke of the day you asked that I take you with us. You do not know the full truth."

At a complete loss, Annalyn swallowed her nervousness and waited to hear more.

"Aldin was but a boy when his mother was taken from us. Three and ten." He huffed a breath through his nose, the bitterness of those years coming to the fore. "So there I was, recently widowed, alone to raise a boy into manhood. You might not know it, but I was scared out of my wits, Annalyn."

Feran fell silent for a moment. At length, a dim smile curved his bearded mouth. "Then came that fateful morning when you knocked on my door, looking so much like your mother—my dear sister. With eyes of steel, you demanded that I take you with us, adding that if I refused, you would follow us whether I wished it or not."

It was hard not to smile at the memory. She had been quite stubborn. Pig-headed. But having lost all that she held dear, the idea of parting with her last remaining kin had been more than she could take.

"If I am honest," Feran went on. "I was selfish that day."

Around them, all was still and silent, but then a haunting call sounded from far away in the forest. An owl. "All these years, I have led you to believe that I resisted the idea at first. But nothing could be further from the truth." Feran smoothed a tired hand over his face. "Oh, for a fleeting moment I found courage enough to tell you that it was best if you remained in the village, with the woman who had offered to take you in—a close friend of your mother's." He sighed, shaking his head. "But as you stood there, resolute in your desire to journey alongside us, I took the cowardly road and relented more for my sake than your own."

Her brows furrowed. For his sake?

"With you being four years older than Aldin, he had long seen you as an elder sister. He has often said as much. But in those early years, I dare say you were like a mother to him."

Annalyn wasn't so sure about that. She had never seen herself as such—though it was true that she had watched over Aldin in those early years of travelling. Now it was more balanced. They all looked after one another.

Feran continued, "As we journeyed far and wide, you looked after my son, gladly and without complaint, in spite of the heavy grief you bore in those days. Indeed, oft were the times I overheard you quietly weeping at night."

Annalyn's chin dipped downward, embarrassment heating her cheeks. Still, she did not deny his words, for the loss of her parents had gouged a most grievous wound in her heart, one she carried to this day, in the form of a permanent scar.

"But then day would break, and you would rise to face its toils with an inner strength that soon shamed me into finding my own. You had such a will," he recalled. "It wasn't long before you learned all that I had to teach about herbs and hunting and finding your bearing out here amid endless grasses and never-ending mountain ranges."

A beat went by. "Not only did you survive in the wilds, but you found fortitude amid your grief, and then you thrived. I relied on you, Annalyn, as did Aldin in those early years before he grew to manhood. And for that I never thanked you." Emotion seemed to clog his throat. "But I do so now."

This sudden openness was so out of character for her uncle that Annalyn could only sit there, stunned yet humbled by what he had just said.

"Well, the hour is late," he declared at last. "I suppose I have talked long enough." Nodding to himself, Feran rose to his feet and took a few steps before stopping again. He looked to her. "I do not think I've ever said this, but your mother and father would have been proud of you… I know I am."

Lacking words, Annalyn smiled at her uncle behind a gathering veil of tears.


	8. When Darkness Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my brain decided to wake up at 4:30 am this morning, and because tomorrow is shaping up to be rather busy, I am posting the chapter earlier than expected. So yay for insomnia? Anyway, here it is. I hope you are all having a good day. :)

**CHAPTER VIII**

**WHEN DARKNESS COMES**

"We should ready the plants today, and break camp by tomorrow," Feran told them as they broke their fast on a cool, grey morning.

The company had grown restless over the past few days. And since there had been no further sign of Orcs, they figured it was a good time to gather their things and make for the Gladden Fields.

The company finished their meal in short order, then went about preparing the leaves for the long ride ahead. The journey would be tiring, they knew. But Annalyn and her kin had been idle for far too long, and were eager to get underway. Some might say it was late in the season, but there was yet time to find the plants they coveted. With a bit of luck, they might even find more _gearwe_.

Once the leaves were wrapped and stored, Annalyn turned her attention to the clothes she had washed in a nearby stream the day prior. The garments hung on a makeshift drying line, a few paces into the forest.

When she caught sight of Aldin as he emerged from further into the woods, Annalyn called out to him. "Did you get anything?" By anything, she meant the rabbit they had spotted earlier, quietly hopping by the clothes line before disappearing into the brush.

With a frustrated shake of his head, Aldin indicated his bow. "I missed."

Her mouth quirked. "Are you certain you don't need archery lessons?"

Because her cousin was so easy-going, her teasing earned her a smile and a retort. "I would like to see you do better."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It most definitely is," he replied.

Having folded his clothing, Annalyn handed them over. Aldin gave an exaggerated bow. "Thank you, my lady. You are too kind."

Rolling her eyes, Annalyn almost threw a cloth at him, but refrained, biting back a laugh. "Go and help your father."

There was much to do, and little time to do it in. But the company was efficient, and by nightfall all was in readiness for the upcoming journey.

For the third consecutive night, the watch proved uneventful. Feran deemed it safe enough to leave before dawn.

Clad in a cloak and a fresh set of clothes, Annalyn secured her pack to her horse while her uncle and cousin checked the straps of their saddles. Once the buckles were fastened, she gathered the top portion of her hair, and tied it in a knot at the back of her head. When her kin finally mounted their horses, she did the same.

"Let us go," Feran stated. And they went.

The pre-dawn sky was devoid of stars, the valley blanketed by thin ribbons of mist. As darkness finally gave way to pale grey light, the company wound their way up the vale at a measured pace. When they came upon the trampled route left by the Orcs, they stopped to evaluate their path.

"The hordes are keeping close to the mountains. I say we give the area a wide berth for now," Feran suggested.

"Sounds good to me," Aldin said.

Preferring safety over a shorter route, Annalyn agreed at once. "Lead the way, uncle."

And so the company cut a path through the mire, and proceeded in a northeastern direction.

Swaying in her saddle, Annalyn drew a cleansing breath. It felt good to be riding again, to see new landscapes as the valley gradually fell away behind them.

When the sun finally peeked through the clouds, sometime in the late afternoon, Annalyn basked in it, for autumn was not eternal, and soon winter would arrive. Today, the wind was neither warm nor cool. As it ruffled her cloak, it carried the distant resonance of an eagle's call. A relaxed expression on her features, Annalyn pondered the land ahead. By her reckoning, they would reach the Gladden Fields within two or three days. Four at the most.

The company rode in companionable silence for most of the day. As dusk drew near, they stopped by a gurgling stream bordered by green grass and the occasional tree.

"Father has been rather quiet of late," Aldin noted as he and Annalyn were crouched by the water's edge. "Have you noticed?"

Her waterskin dripping as she pulled it from the stream, Annalyn sat up and pondered her uncle. At present, Feran was checking the sharpness of his blade, his outline haloed by the last rays of the setting sun. "He is weary, I think," she admitted. "Wants to see us home safely."

"Home," Aldin echoed, his eyes alight with warmth. "It will be nice getting back." With his legs stretched out beneath him, he looked to the south, toward the grassy plains that lay far beyond the present horizon. He sighed. "I miss the mead-hall, and mead, and sleeping by the hearth when it is raining outside. And I miss…" He caught himself then, his cheeks colouring a little.

"You miss Erna," Annalyn finished for him.

Aldin shrugged at first, but she knew better. When he finally admitted it, there was a definite twinkle in his brown eyes. "I miss Erna."

"Have you decided yet?" she prodded, smiling. "Are you going to ask for her hand?"

As he stared at the horizon, his expression matched her own. "I might," he said, though his smile suggested that he intended to do just that.

 _Good_ , she thought, happy despite the fact that a small part of her envied him.

Truth be told, Annalyn had not been fortunate when it came to love. As bitter memories began to surface, she pushed them back down. She had no desire to think of him, the man who had broken her heart. Nor did she wish to revisit the day her hopes had crumbled.

Their waterskins filled to the brim, the two soon gained their feet, and made for the center of camp, where they sat for a simple supper. Without a fire, their choice was limited to a few strips of dried meat and some wild mushrooms they had picked along the way. In spite of the long and tiring ride, the evening proved rather pleasant. Even Feran seemed to be having a good time. As they ate, soft laughter surged every now and again, courtesy of Aldin's storytelling skills.

Later, as she lay beneath her blanket, Annalyn looked at the darkened sky, where a single star could be seen in a narrow gap between the clouds. By its location, she thought it might be part of the Swan whose bright wings spanned the dense river of stars that bisected the heavens. As far as celestial displays went, these overlapping features were a sight to behold—though the river was only visible on the darkest and clearest of nights. It was a shame they were hidden, she thought, though one star was better than none.

Content, Annalyn stared at the twinkling gem until the clouds moved over it. Then, closing her eyes, her body began to relax. It wasn't long before she drifted into an unexpectedly peaceful sleep.

"Annalyn!"

The alarmed call of her name jolted her awake. She flinched in fear when she realised someone was shaking her shoulder.

"Aldin?" she said in concern and confusion.

"Hurry!" he hissed in a lowered voice, then pulled her to her feet. "We cannot remain here!"

Fearful yet confused, Annalyn hastily gathered her things, and looked all about them. When her anxious gaze swept the southern horizon, their need for a hasty retreat became clear. A moving wall of shadowed silhouettes was cresting over a hill in the distance, some of them carrying torches. "Orcs?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"What else?" Aldin grasped her sleeve, and nearly dragged her with him.

When they reached the horses, Feran had already released their tethers, and was climbing in the saddle. "Make haste," he said, his gaze darting between his kin and the approaching threat.

With shaking hands, Annalyn fastened her belongings as quickly as she could, mounted then nudged her horse with her heels. The company couldn't risk a thundering gallop—it would be heard from all around—but they went as fast as they dared. As Cobalt trotted over grass, Annalyn cast a look over her shoulder, and saw that the horde was not as organised as the ones they had seen previously. Although they numbered in the hundreds, the Orcs marched in scattered groups. Some of them appeared to be riding… not horses, she decided. _Wargs_. Those fearsome creatures with jaws so powerful, they could render flesh _and_ shatter bones.

Suppressing a shudder of fear, Annalyn looked ahead. The skies had cleared, and the land was swathed in the moon's bluish glow. It made riding easier and less treacherous. But it also made them more visible. In the lead, Feran urged his horse toward a wooded area. Annalyn and Aldin followed.

Now the forest swallowed them. Their horses slowed to a walk. It was utterly dark in here. But as Annalyn's eyes started to adjust, she discerned her uncle's silhouette, then Aldin's as he came up beside her. They rode on.

The ground was uneven, dipping and rising beneath the old, weathered trees. At first, the horses' hooves fell silent on beds of pine needles, but as the company came upon a stream—most likely a tributary of the River Gladden—they clopped and echoed on hard, rocky ground. The sound echoed out into the night, making them cringe. They halted at once.

With any luck, the Orcs had neither heard nor seen them, and would be moving from the general area before long.

It was nerve-racking, the wait seemingly endless. With her uncle and cousin on either side of her, Annalyn held tightly to the reins, and eyed the surrounding forest with trepidation. The boughs of the trees formed a suffocating roof that obscured much of the moonlight. As Cobalt stamped his feet, Annalyn absently patted the side of his neck in hopes that it would soothe his nerves. The air felt thick in here. Almost like an enclosed space. Nothing stirred. Nothing moved. Even the stream appeared reticent, its silent waters so sluggish hardly a ripple could be seen.

The company was in a heightened state of awareness, would exchange worried glances at any and all sounds—from creaking branches, to a falling leaf.

Endless moments went by. After what felt like hours, Feran nudged his horse closer to the stream, where he looked around, and listened some more.

"Do you think they've gone?" Aldin ventured at last, his voice low.

The sound of wing beats and raucous cries suddenly pierced the night, startling them. Flinching, they looked up in time to see a murder of crows taking off from nearby branches, as though they had been frightened by something.

The birds faded into the night, leaving a disconcerting silence in their wake. The horses pranced nervously. Annalyn looked to her kin, saw her fear mirrored in their eyes. From somewhere in the forest, the company soon deciphered a sound, faint at first, then progressively louder. Heavy footsteps, with a definite metal clang. And harsh voices as well.

There was no mistaking whom and what they were.

Desperate to elude the Orcs, Annalyn and her kin spurred their horses in the opposite direction.

"There!" a foul voice yelled suddenly. "Up ahead!"

They had been spotted.

Things became a blur after that. As they rode further into the night, veering this way and that between the trees, the company did their best to stay together. Just when she thought they were in the clear, Annalyn deciphered the unmistakable shape of a Warg-rider at the edge of her sight.

Though the beast remained in their periphery for now, it kept pace with them, chilling her blood as it howled and growled in the night.

"Annalyn!" Feran called out to her as his horse started down an incline, his son riding on his left flank. Eyes widening, Annalyn realised that she had diverged from their path, and was now riding on a rising section of forest. To her immediate left was a sheer drop that was at least twice her height. _No!_

Unable to double-back, Annalyn looked for a way to join her kin, but could not find any. "Go!" she urged them as they drew rein below. "I will find you!"

Even in the dark, their distress was as palpable as her own. Left with no other option, Feran and Aldin nodded, and nudged their horses onward.

"I will find you," Annalyn repeated on a choked whisper, tearing her tearful gaze from theirs as she rode on. In hopes of gaining speed, she leaned forward in her saddle and spoke over the loud hammering of her heart. "Run, my friend!"

Her faithful horse did as he was told.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked for the Warg-rider, but could not see it. For a fleeting instant, she wondered if it had broken off its pursuit, but then decided it was unlikely. Either it had followed her kin, or else the horrid creature was stalking her at a distance, prolonging the chase until her horse fell over from sheer exhaustion. The growl that soon reached her ears told her it was the latter.

For a time, it felt as though the forest was working against her. Like gnarled hands, the trees seemed to be grasping at her, and they were closing in. A branch even caught in her hair, pulling at the tangled strands before snapping as she rode on. But then, without warning, the forest opened onto a clearing. With narrowed eyes, Annalyn looked far into the gloom. This wasn't a clearing at all, but open land.

Exposed and vulnerable, Annalyn shot a glance over her shoulder in time to see the Warg-rider emerge from the forest. Her fear turned to despair. She urged her horse to an ever faster run. _Little good that will do_ , she thought miserably, for Wargs were incredibly fast, faster than horses—even those from Rohan.

Annalyn had been in harrowing situations before, had known fear. Just not like this. Gathering what was left of her tattered courage, she sought the hilt of her blade and pulled it from its sheath.

If she was to meet her end, then so be it. But she would not go without a fight.

As she accepted her fate—whatever it might be—a strange calm came over her. And in that moment, Annalyn's thoughts shifted to the ones she loved: her uncle and cousin, the only people left in her life. _Please be safe_ , she thought, then silently bid them farewell. Just in case.

Cobalt ran at breakneck speed, his hooves thundering as he went. At length, he came to a sudden drop in the terrain and nearly toppled over. After skidding to a stop, he gave a loud neigh, then rose on his hind legs. The jolt startled Annalyn. She gasped, lost her grip, and fell to the ground with such force it knocked the wind right out of her.

Annalyn sat dazed for a moment. Blinking hard, she briefly shook her head, and looked up. Cobalt was fleeing, neighing loudly as he faded into the gloom. As if that wasn't bad enough, she had lost her sword as well.

Before she could even look for it, cruel laughter sounded from nearby. She froze. Her innards turned to water.

Swallowing against her fear, Annalyn somehow gained her feet. On trembling legs, she turned and saw that her pursuer had slowed, and was now creeping closer.

"Lost your steed?" it mocked. There was a malicious gleam in the Orc's yellow eyes.

Her inner calmness had long since shattered. Annalyn was scared out of her wits, her tunic dampened by cold sweat. Unwilling to cower before this filth, however, she lifted her chin in defiance, said nothing.

"I see you've lost your tongue as well." The Orc lifted its scimitar, its mouth curled into a hideous smile. "No matter. You won't need it." With that, it snarled and dug its heels into the beast that bore it. The Warg pounced. But as it leapt, something pierced the air, and shot into its neck.

Unable to process what was happening, Annalyn watched as the beast fell, twisting and growling before growing still. The rider, on the other hand, was stunned but unscathed. Scrambling to its feet, the Orc looked about with wild fury until it, too, was struck down by a single arrow.

Annalyn remained rooted as the Orc's body crashed to the ground, and stared at the horrible creature until something moved into the edge of her vision. She looked toward it, saw... "It cannot be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a huge thank you to those who have been reading this story. Your comments and kudos have been the icing on the cake for me. For those who are interested in continuing the journey, the next chapter should be ready within a week or so. 
> 
> Kindest regards, 
> 
> CygnusRift


	9. An Unlikely Reunion

**CHAPTER IX**

**AN UNLIKELY REUNION**

"Annalyn!"

Haldir called out, bow in hand, as he closed the distance to the maid of Rohan. She stood but a few paces from the foul creatures that he'd skewered with his true aim. His keen gaze discerned the quakes of her form long before he reached her. He watched her expression flicker between surprise and puzzlement as he neared.

"Are you well?" Haldir asked, thinking she might have hurt herself while falling from the saddle.

Annalyn's quivering breath frosted in the cool night air. "Haldir?" _What are you doing here?_ her eyes seemed to say.

It had been a close call, his timing a sheer stroke of luck. Earlier that night, Haldir had been tracking a scattered horde of Orcs when he had spotted the fleeing company of three, shortly before they had sought refuge in the forest.

It had been a troublesome sight, prompting him to sprint over grass and rocks in hopes of reaching the company before tragedy befell them. Given the distance he had to cover, Haldir had lost sight of them for a time. For nearly two hours he had hastened across the land. He had not yet reached the woods when Annalyn had emerged from the forest, riding with all haste to escape the Warg and rider on her tail.

Fortunately, her chosen path had brought her nearer to him, and he had been able to kill the creatures just in time. Presently, their foul stench assailed him as he walked by, but Haldir ignored their lifeless forms, and continued toward Annalyn.

As a weary but grateful smile came to paint her face, she beheld him with a blend of wonder and perplexity. "How did you… Where…" Her mouth worked, but her query would have to wait, for a howling was suddenly borne upon the wind, evidence that a Warg yet lingered in the area.

With a frown knitting his brows, Haldir cast a sweeping look into the gloom. "We cannot linger here."

"But my kin…" Her fretful protest matched the concern on her face.

"One thing at a time," Haldir told her, but not harshly. He peered out into the valley again. "Riders prowl the area, and the horde is but a few leagues that way. It would be unwise to remain out in the open like this." But first things first, Haldir needed to seek the arrows he had loosed. Once his quiver was restocked, he straightened and saw that Annalyn had retrieved the blade she had lost when she had fallen from her horse. Her hand rising to sweep an errant lock of hair from her face, she nodded once to indicate she was ready.

They set off at once.

Having no clear idea of what had occurred in the forest, Haldir thought it best to find a safe vantage point from which he could get a better sense of what they should do next. "There," he whispered at length, indicating a small cluster of pine trees that stood between their present location and the dark woods from which Annalyn had emerged.

Wordlessly, the two hurried forth. As the landscape rose and fell beneath their feet, Haldir kept a careful watch over his surroundings. At one point, he motioned for Annalyn to stay low, for there were at least three Warg-riders out here, their dark shapes visible to his eyes. At present, they were lingering about, weaving their way among rocks in the distance. Likely they were searching for Annalyn.

In a sense, she and her kin had been fortunate. When Haldir had first spotted them in the distance, their presence had apparently gone unnoticed by the creatures. But as the main host had continued on, a small band of Orcs and Warg-riders had broken away quietly in order to pursue them into the forest. It spoke of their murderous voracity, for Orcs were selfish and distrustful of one another. They did not readily share in their killing and plundering.

In the present, Haldir had almost reached the pine trees when a retching sound severed the stillness. Turning, he saw that Annalyn was bent forward, her hands braced on her knees as she vomited upon the grass. The night's events had overwhelmed her, it seemed.

Uncertain of what to do, Haldir winced at the sound and cast a look toward the distant riders who, for a mercy, did not appear to notice. Once her stomach had settled, Annalyn spat a few times, before moving past him with averted eyes.

As they sought cover in the trees, crouching beneath thick, green boughs, she reached for her hip with a trembling hand, only to realise that something was missing. Not her sword, Haldir noted, and deduced what it was.

"Here." Reaching for his waterskin, he offered it to her, but she hesitated. He could not miss the embarrassment in her hazel eyes. _She thinks I pity her_ , though to be honest, he did feel bad for Annalyn. Clearly, she had had a wretched night.

All the same, she accepted the water in the end. Mindful not to touch her lips to the opening, she tilted her head back and poured a small amount in her mouth before swishing the liquid around. Eyes scrunched tightly, she drew a tremulous breath through her nose, spit off to one side, then promptly poured another mouthful, but swallowed this time.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Annalyn returned the waterskin with a curt nod of thanks. It was then that another growl echoed in the night. Closer this time.

Haldir studied the copse in which they were hiding. To lessen their chances of being seen, he motioned to a bowl-shaped hollow in the ground, less than two paces away, at the foot of a large pine tree. With a nod of understanding, Annalyn retreated into the sunken depression, while he remained where he was. In a crouch, he donned his hood, and turned his focus on the dark valley around them.

* * *

Haldir's cloak was superbly strange, woven with magic perhaps.

As she drew her arms and legs tightly into her body, Annalyn forgot the sick feeling in her stomach and focused instead on her unlikely companion. _What's he doing out here?_ she wondered even as she marvelled at his elven garb. Of course, Annalyn had seen his cloak before, but for some reason had never noticed how utterly effective it was in concealing his form. At once grey and not, the fabric blended perfectly with the night-clad wood. Not only that, but Haldir was so still, he could easily pass for a shadow cast by something solid and unmovable. A master of concealment indeed.

Another growl breached the night, bringing to mind those dreadful fangs, and the gaping maw of the Warg's mouth—the one that would have torn her to shreds had Haldir not intervened in time. A fell voice echoed just then, and another voice answered, deeper and more grating but just as foul. She could not make out the words, but she guessed the Orcs were still searching for their prey, for her.

Annalyn stiffened at the thought, and wished she could see the valley from here. To gauge what was happening out there, she kept her eyes on Haldir. His bow was in his hand, but he had yet to draw an arrow from his quiver. The riders must have been far enough away, then.

The wind picked up a little, a single sweeping gust that brought the scent of earth to her nose, along with a fleeting waft of cedar.

The voices were clearer now, speaking in a harsh tongue she did not know. Her stomach dropped. When Haldir raised a fluid arm toward his quiver, grabbing and silently nocking an arrow, it seemed her ears were not mistaken. The Orcs were drawing near.

Several thundering heartbeats went by. Annalyn made herself even smaller as Haldir drew the string back, slowly. Instead of releasing the arrow, however, he waited with supreme focus while she held her breath, dreading the encounter that was sure to follow. But then, unexpectedly, Haldir eased the tension on his bowstring, and lowered the elegant weapon. The riders must have been moving away.

With a nod, Haldir indicated that it was safe—well, safer. She climbed out of the hollow, but remained close to the ground, and to Haldir. The Orcs were still out there, but it was dark, and her eyes could not see them, unlike her companion who seemed to be tracking their path.

As they watched the valley together, the smell of cedar wafted to her nose again, and she wondered if it was Haldir's scent or that of the trees. Looking around, Annalyn saw naught but weathered pines. Strange, she thought and looked sidelong at him. No, the scent was definitely Haldir's. It was pleasant, she noted, clean with a subtle but spicy undertone, like cloves almost.

Her mind shifting to her present situation, Annalyn asked if he could see her kin somewhere. At the shake of his head, she despaired a little. "And Cobalt?"

"Nay."

She willed her frantic heart to slow. "They are out there somewhere. They are safe," Annalyn declared, mostly to reassure herself.

* * *

Night was nearing its end, and a faint band of light could be seen just over the eastern horizon. Stooped shoulder to shoulder with Annalyn, Haldir watched the valley until the upper edge of the sun appeared, sending bright orange light upon the land. The Orcs had long since abandoned their hunt, and the distant horde had gone to hide somewhere.

Thus it was that their watch came to an end. Rising to her feet, Annalyn crossed the sheltering cluster of pines. At the opposite edge, she turned her anxious gaze toward the looming forest from which she had emerged last night. With her back to him, she fell into silence, and studied the tree line.

Now that they were well away from unfriendly eyes and ears, Haldir decided it was time to give voice to the questions that were swirling about in his head. Rising also, he said her name, and watched as she turned her head slightly, but not enough to meet his gaze.

"Your uncle and cousin," Haldir began, but she interrupted him.

"We were separated." A beat went by, and then another. "I do not know where they are." Though her words were tinged with worry, Haldir discerned something else in her tone—self-recrimination perhaps? After a heavy silence, Annalyn finally sought his eyes, her voice a mere whisper when she said, "But I'm going to find them."

It was a promise, he realised, one she had made to herself.

Haldir appreciated her resolve. With silent footsteps, he made his way to her side, and pondered the forest along with her. "I shall go with you," he declared, and felt her eyes on him.

Her delayed response betrayed her surprise. At length, she expressed her gratitude, and followed with an even softer utterance. "You are very kind, Haldir."

This took him aback, for "kind" was not the first word one usually ascribed to him. Grim, efficient, commanding, he had been called over the centuries. But Haldir did not think himself unkind. If he seemed cold at times, it was only because he was cautious, and needed to be.

That being said, in the short time he had known them, Haldir had come to respect Annalyn and her kin, thought they were decent folk. And while he had been sent for a specific task, he could not turn a blind eye and leave her alone out here, with nothing but a sword and the clothes on her back.

Besides, the hordes were easy to track. He had caught up with them once. He could do so once again.

"It should be safe enough now. We should go," Annalyn said, and was leaving the cluster of trees when Haldir noted the unsteadiness of her steps. Still shaken from the chase, and worried sick for her kin, Annalyn was in a somewhat sorry state.

Hesitating, Haldir glanced at his pack, then called her name. "You should eat before we depart." As she frowned and doubled-back, he opened the leather flap, and produced a leaf-wrapped bundle.

It went against custom, he knew, for this elven travel-food had been made by Galadriel herself—who, in turn, had learned the craft from Melian the Maia, long ages ago. It was special fare indeed. Some said that the recipe was first conceived by Yavanna, the Vala known as the Giver of Fruits. Lothlórien had stores of it—mostly for the use of its soldiers—but seldom was this food given to outsiders. But as he stood there, hand outstretched, Haldir felt that the Lady would forgive his decision. For the march could prove long and tiring for Annalyn, especially since they had no idea where her uncle and cousin had gone. For all they knew, they might be leagues away by now. North or south, he did not know.

"What is it?" Annalyn eyed the leaf-wrapping.

"Elven Waybread," he explained, adding that the Elves called it _lembas_. The Lady Galadriel, for her part, usually referred to it in Quenya, the ancient tongue of her people. _Coimas_ it was called by the Noldor. Life-bread.

Under Annalyn's gaze, Haldir unwrapped the golden cake, and explained its nutritious properties.

Her brows shot up. "A single bite? You jest." Now her mouth quirked. His did not. Little as it might seem, Waybread was incredibly nutritious and filling. A single bite was enough to see a grown man through a full day's march.

"It is no jest. Eat, or else you might grow weary during the march."

She examined the bread for a moment, turning it this way and that. When Annalyn finally sank her teeth into it, he literally saw some of her weariness ebb away. Humbled, she returned the remaining portion with a murmured "thank you" and watched as he wrapped it again.

Since the surrounding land was now bathed in early-morning light, Haldir agreed with Annalyn's earlier assessment that it was now safe enough to strike out across the valley. As they marched in the gathering light, retracing Annalyn's path, Haldir finally asked about her kin. "Where did you last see them?"

"It was dark. Disorienting," she confessed before remembering something. "We had been hiding near a stream when they found us. I think we followed it for a short while."

It was not much to go on, but it was a start.

In contrast to the clear morning sky, the forest ahead appeared dark, the spaces between the trees veiled in shadow. His thoughts shifting to what might be lurking within, Haldir scanned the approaching tree line for any sign of movement, but saw nothing. The only sound was that of early-morning songbirds.

Haldir and Annalyn continued in silence for a little while longer, the forest looming ever closer with every step. They had not yet reached the tree line when Annalyn spoke once more. "I should have paid heed." The words were flat, her eyes set in a vacant gaze. "I should have looked where I was going."

Uncertain of her meaning, Haldir frowned slightly and waited for her to elaborate. She did.

Her voice lowering a notch, Annalyn described the chase and how she had erred, straying from her kin.

 _She blames herself_.  

But none of this was her fault. Stopping in his tracks, Haldir leveled his gaze at her. "We will find them, Annalyn."

Though their fate remained a mystery, Feran and Aldin were out there somewhere, hopefully alive.

"Come," Haldir said. "We have a stream to find."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do need to thank all my readers. Your continued interest, your comments, and your kudos have been the best reward I could ever hope for. Truly, you have made my week. For those who wish to continue the journey, the next part has been posted.
> 
> Kindest regards,
> 
> CygnusRift


	10. The Search

**CHAPTER X**

**THE SEARCH**

Annalyn was no stranger to tracking, had learned the skill early on in her travels with her kin. With determined steps and a fretful heart, she scrambled up a moss-covered mound, then cast a searching look about the forest. _There it is_. Exactly what she had been looking for.

Pointing to a faint trail of crushed vegetation, Annalyn glanced at her unlikely companion, but saw that he had already spotted the same thing, and was now hurrying ahead, his golden hair glinting in the filtered rays of the sun.

Even now, with hours of walking behind them, she could scarce believe that Haldir was truly here, helping her find her kin. But he was. And he had saved her life. Again.

"A horse passed hither," Haldir stated as she joined him. Crouching, Annalyn saw a staggered set of tracks that betokened a galloping pattern. From the direction of the prints, she believed that they had found her escape path.

"I think this is it," she said, somewhat heartened by the discovery. "We could be close to where last I saw them."

Uncertain of what might be lurking within these woods, the two companions moved quietly among the trees, and spoke only when needed. The forest around them was silent, the air still and oppressive as it warmed in the midday sun. At present, narrow shafts of light pierced the canopy here and there, leaving the rest of the forest in contrasting shadow. Yet the further Annalyn and Haldir walked, the darker it became. The evergreens stood close together, their prickly branches thick in their weaving—a perfect hiding place for creatures who loathed sunlight.

As a precaution, Haldir would stop every once in a while, head cocked, listening for movement, while his keen elven eyes scanned their surroundings. His scrutiny yielding nothing, he would nudge his head forward, indicating they should continue.

At one point, he made a reassuring declaration. "I do not believe the Orcs are nearby."

Now they went over hill and over roots, then down and around lichen-covered trees. Despite having consumed the miracle food that was _lembas_ , Annalyn was growing more and more winded. Yet as her weary legs strove to match Haldir's tireless pace, she did not ask him to slow, nor did she wish to rest. Her eyes scoured the surrounding woods, but to her dismay they had lost the trail.

"Wait here," Haldir said and made for a nearby tree. As he scaled its trunk to get a better view, Annalyn did not abandon her own search. It wasn't that she doubted Haldir's tracking abilities—by now it was clear that his eyes were exceptionally keen—but given that they were searching for her kin, Annalyn felt the responsibility was hers. Perhaps it was her way of coping with the uncertainty before her, but part of her desperately needed to do this. But with each passing hour, it was starting to feel less like she and Haldir were working together, and more like she was merely following his lead.

Determined, Annalyn continued her study of the forest, and had just spotted a flattened fern when Haldir's voice sounded from above. "That way."

By his pointing hand, it seemed he had noticed the same clue she had.

As Haldir made his way back down, Annalyn took a moment to catch her breath. When she was ready to set off again, he had already raced ahead. Looking after him, a knot formed in her stomach, and conflict grew in her being. She called for him to wait.

He did.

As she neared, Annalyn saw the unspoken question in his elven eyes. Breathless, she said, "I can take the lead."

Puzzlement crossed his face. ""If I may, my eyesight is—"

"I value your aid," Annalyn cut him off, and hoped he would understand. "Truly. And having seen what you can do, I do not doubt your skill. But if we are to proceed together, one thing must be made clear."

Annalyn was not trying to be difficult, nor was she being confrontational. "This is not like before. It cannot _be_ like before. We are in the wilds, not the Golden Wood. You might be a captain of—"

"Marchwarden," Haldir corrected her in that cool manner of his.

Fine. "Marchwarden." She sighed and went on. "But I am not one of your soldiers. Out here, I normally answer to my uncle. So until I—we—find him, I make my own decisions. And right now, regardless of your skill, I do not feel comfortable blindly following your lead."

What the Elf would make of this, Annalyn had no idea. He was stone-faced. Stone-faced but listening.

"These are my kin." Though she fought them, tears were threatening to form, and a lump now clogged her throat, hindering her voice when she whispered, "I will work with you, and should I miss something, by all means, tell me. But Haldir… I need to do this." _Please_ , she almost said, but didn't, wouldn't.

For his part, Haldir regarded her with that unreadable expression, his up-turned brow bringing to mind her first encounter with him. He might find it inefficient. He might even think she was being needlessly stubborn and foolish. But Annalyn was sick with worry, and hoped to chase away her helplessness by seizing what little control there was to be had. Together they could do this, side by side, but she was not his to lead.

Chin raised, she waited. After an endless moment, Haldir stepped to the side, his features giving away nothing, and motioned for her to go first.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and passed him by.

And so they marched, following the lingering traces of her escape—a set of tracks here, the broken end of a branch there. In the waxing hours of the afternoon, they came at last to a raised section of forest.

Slowing to a stop, Annalyn stared at the forest floor below, thoughts of the previous night surfacing with awful clarity in her mind.

" _Annalyn!_ " She could still hear the anguish in her uncle's voice, see the despair in his eyes. In Aldin's as well.

" _Go!_ " she had cried, completely and utterly heartsick. " _I will find you!_ "

"Is this the place?" Haldir ventured from somewhere behind her left shoulder.

A heartbeat went by, and then another. "Yes." One word. Barely a whisper.

Though she should have kept going, Annalyn stood motionless, lingering in the churning eddy of her thoughts, until she felt a gentle nudge on her arm. Glancing down, she saw that Haldir was offering his waterskin again. With all that walking, she had indeed grown thirsty, but had pushed it out of her mind.

Inwardly cursing the fact that she had lost her supplies, she muttered her thanks, took the skin, but only allowed herself a few sips. "There isn't much left."

"I hear water in the distance," Haldir told her once she had returned the water pouch. "I will fill it again once we reach the stream. Come."

Thankful for his presence, Annalyn watched as the tall Elf sprang down the path. Then, rubbing the back of her aching neck, she summoned the strength needed to continue, and followed in his wake.

"Did you see the direction in which they were headed?" Haldir asked once she had made it down.

Drawing upon her memories, Annalyn pointed east, hoping she was not mistaken. "That way, I think."

Sure enough, they soon came upon a faint set of hoofmarks, then another one, running almost parallel to it. Additional scrutiny revealed several more tracks, footprints and pawmarks alike. A chase had occurred here, indicating that Feran and Aldin had not eluded the Orcs after all—at least not here.

They followed the tracks for some time, and came at length to the stream she had come across last night. While Haldir refilled his waterskin, Annalyn took a moment to splash the cool, clear water on her face and neck. _Better_ , she thought and took a brief rest.

Refreshed and ready to continue, the companions rose and struck out again, following the tracks until the forest started to thin. At the very edge, soft ground yielded to a smooth rocky surface. They had lost the trail once more.

Hoping for a better vantage point, they climbed atop a cluster of boulders, and studied the land ahead. Now that they were out of the forest, a large dale stretched before them. Edged by tall firs, it seemed to run in an easterly direction, its sunlit terrain harsh and rocky, with the occasional shrub or small weather-beaten tree.

Of Feran and Aldin there was no sign, however. _Perhaps that is a good thing_.

With the westering sun at their backs, they set out across the dale, and made camp shortly before nightfall, at the foot of a bluff sheltered by a slight overhang.

"Still nothing?" Annalyn asked while she sat near the rock wall, her calloused hands working to rub the soreness from her calves.

"If your kin lingered in this place, I do not see them now." Haldir was standing on a segment of rock that jutted from the bluff, his gaze searching the land yet again.

Annalyn should have taken comfort in the fact that her kin had apparently made it out of the dale, but she could not help but worry for them, the unknown of the situation feeding some of the fears she harboured.

Haldir made his way back down, his feet light and swift. "We should strike out at first light. And continue eastward."

It was a good idea, perhaps the only viable one. Since the dale was flanked by steep slopes on either side, it seemed unlikely that her kin had fled up the escarpments. No, Annalyn thought, the way east seemed the safest and surest route. They had to have gone that way.

Where her kin would have headed from there, she did not know. But one thing was certain: if harm had not come to them, her uncle and cousin would come back for her, either through this very dale, or some other way. But they would not leave her behind.

Clinging to that hope, Annalyn turned her attention on her aching calves, and massaged them some more. When she was done, she pulled up her boots, rested for a time, then looked to Haldir. Dusk had since fallen. Silhouetted by a backdrop of pale stars, he sat a pace away from her, his dark blue eyes following his progress as he ran a polishing cloth along the curved edge of his blade.

All throughout their march, the entirety of her thoughts had been bent on finding her kin. But now that they were sitting here, resting under cover of night, Annalyn's curiosity resurfaced. She gave voice to the question that had been hanging at the back of her mind. "We're a long way from Lothlórien," she started, and he looked up to meet her gaze. "How did you come to be out here?"

"Scouting," Haldir stated simply, then told an all-too-familiar tale. Orcs, he said, had been skirting the elven woods in alarming numbers, most of them heading in a northerly direction. The sudden rise in activity had been of great concern to the Elves, and the keepers of his realm had asked him to follow the creatures and gauge their intentions.

"We have seen them, even before last night," Annalyn said wryly, remembering the nights they had spent hiding in the woods, watching fretfully as Orcs and Wargs passed them by.

"Do you suppose they are gathering somewhere?" she asked after a long silence.

"It seems very likely to me." With the flat of his thumb, Haldir checked the sharpness of his blade. And though his eyes were fixed on the lethal edge, Annalyn could see that he was as troubled by the notion as she was.

Noting something peculiar about his blade, Annalyn leaned closer to get a better view. "What is that lettering on your sword?" There was a long line of it, formed of delicate characters. Elvish writing, she guessed.

"The script is called Tengwar," Haldir explained then read the inscription in that soothing language of his. There were many words, she noted. All of them unknown to her save for one: Lothlórien.

"What does it all mean?"

Angling his weapons so she could see, he translated the inscription. "It is called Silverwind this broadsword-blade, a defence noble against evil for the realm of Lothlórien, land of blossoms dreaming."

"All that is written on your sword?"

Haldir inclined his head in answer.

By the way he presented his weapon, she understood that he was permitting her to hold it. Her mouth slightly agape, Annalyn wrapped her hand about the hilt. Never had her fingers grasped such a graceful weapon. It gleamed now before her, and she saw her wonder-filled eye reflected upon its polished surface. _So light_. No doubt, it had perfect balance, too. "Silverwind," she echoed and liked the word on her tongue. With great care, she handed it over again, and voiced the obvious. "Your sword has a name?"

"Yours does not?" he countered and seemed faintly surprised.

Annalyn shrugged as he sheathed his blade. "I never thought to give it a name. I am no soldier of great renown." _Only a peasant trying to survive the perils out here_. Some might say she was foolhardy for living such a life—some already had, to her face—but the call of the wild rang loudly in her being, and the memory of her parents' death urged her ever onward. Gathering medicinal plants… it mattered.

Annalyn retreated into her thoughts for a while. Then she reversed their roles and presented her blade to Haldir who took it with a curious but assessing gaze.

What he thought of her sword, she could not tell. But though it paled in comparison to his elvish weapons, she loved and was proud of it. Plain though it might be, the sword was sharp and undamaged. It could cleave through an Orc if ever she had need of it. But more than that, it carried with it a memory of happier days.

"It was gifted to me by my father when I turned six and ten," she explained as he turned the blade over before returning it with a clear measure of respect.

"A treasured weapon, then," he said.

"It is dear to me." Fondness lulled her fretful heart, and she remembered the warmth in her father's smile. Her mother's, too. But then, like countless times this day, her thoughts went to her uncle and cousin, and her stomach tightened. _Please be well_.

"You should sleep." His words came some time later, as she pondered the eastern horizon, making her realise how utterly exhausted she was.

Quietly, on a nod, Annalyn wrapped her cloak more closely around her frame, and sought a suitable position in which to sleep on the hard, uneven ground.

As her eyelids fell heavily, she drew a tired breath. _Tomorrow_ , she thought. _Tomorrow, we will find them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do need to thank all my readers. Your continued interest, your comments, and your kudos have been the best reward I could ever hope for. For those who wish to continue the journey, the next part is now ready. :-)


	11. On Silent Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, I need to thank all my readers and reviewers, those who have clicked kudos or have been following the story. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.

**CHAPTER XI**

**ON SILENT GROUND**

_Is he…?_

Baffled by the sight before her, Annalyn craned her neck to better observe her companion.

Earlier in the night, when the rocky ground had proved too much for her frame, she had awakened to find Haldir surveying the dale. Suggesting that he take some rest, she had taken up the watch, but instead of lying down and closing his eyes like any other person would, Haldir had lowered himself into a seated position. With an arm draped over his knee, he had sat long in silence, staring off into the distance.

At first, Annalyn had reckoned him deep in thought, but now she wasn't so sure. His sapphire eyes were set in a strange gaze. It was hard to describe. He seemed aware and yet not, as if he was dreaming while in the waking world.

Uncertain, Annalyn leaned a bit closer, her eyes widening a little when she realised that he was, in fact, asleep. _How strange_ , she marvelled and blinked a few times. With growing amusement, Annalyn bit the inside of her cheek. _Will Elves ever cease to surprise me?_

As the waning crescent of the moon shone above the distant trees, she watched him for a moment longer, her smile lingering until she looked to the east. She sighed. In a few short hours, the sun would rise, and the search for her kin would resume.

Though she had been incredibly worried since the start of all this, Annalyn would not give in to despair. _They are out there somewhere. They are safe_. Ere nightfall, they would all be sitting together, relieved and joyful as they recounted their separate adventures.

It was a hopeful thought, the only outcome she was willing to consider at this time.

Haldir awoke some time later, when the first hints of light tinged the horizon. Once in readiness, they got underway, marching eastward beneath a clear lavender sky.

With Haldir walking beside her, Annalyn maintained a resolute stride, her eyes on the towering firs that lined the periphery of the dale. With any luck, they would pick up the trail again, and find her kin in short order.

"There is a fissure ahead," Haldir indicated after a while. "It is not too wide," he observed as they neared. "We can leap across."

And he did, swiftly and easily, while Annalyn hesitated on the edge of the drop. The gap seemed awfully wide to her. But when Haldir cast a look over his shoulder, to see if she was following, Annalyn felt her cheeks redden. Embarrassed by her nervousness, she restrained her features, gathered her courage, and leapt, her feet landing on the other side.

If he had discerned her trepidation, Annalyn could not say. But when she lied, saying, "That was easy enough." the corner of his mouth twitched.

So they marched, reaching the edge of the forest in short order. After a relatively brief search of the area, the companions spotted some tracks. Hooves, two sets of them.

"I see no other tracks," Annalyn said, her heart soaring with the discovery. "They must have eluded the Orcs."

Haldir, for his part, seemed uncertain for some reason. For the span of several heartbeats, he remained where he was, stooping as he studied the forest with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Are you coming?" Annalyn asked over her shoulder, her feet ferrying her ahead.

Wordlessly, Haldir rose, and hurried after her. But as he neared, he stopped her by placing a hand to her shoulder. His gaze conveyed that he wished to go first.

Slightly puzzled, Annalyn frowned but acceded this time.

They walked in silence for a long while, venturing deeper and deeper into the forest as the midday sun cast slender beams of light through the canopy. When Haldir came to a sudden stop, his hand rising to indicate something up ahead, Annalyn followed his gaze.

Her stomach twisted in a sickening knot.

On either side of the hoof tracks were several sets of footprints and pawmarks, all of them converging toward the middle. It could only mean one thing: her kin had been ambushed here.

Her heart in her throat, Annalyn made her way forward, her fretful gaze searching the ground as she walked.

At last, a sliver of reflected light drew her eyes. "Look!" Annalyn pointed, then bolted ahead, paying little heed to Haldir's quietly uttered, "Annalyn, wait!"

Without pause or forethought, she hurried between the trees, rustling ferns and flattening smaller vegetation as she went.

It was a blade, a scimitar, and the Orc who'd apparently wielded it lay dead a few paces away, its neck cleaved nearly in two. Slowing, Annalyn scanned the forest, saw another of the dead creatures nearby. She moved closer. Crusty black blood stained a corner of its mouth, trailed downward. From the looks of it, it had been dead for long hours, most likely since yesterday.

"There is another one over here." Haldir's voice reached her ears as she straightened. "Your kin put up quite a fight."

"It would appear so," Annalyn replied, somewhat encouraged.

But it wasn't to last.

Turning, she caught glimpse of a large… something. Then, she drew a sharp breath.

Abrax, the steady mount that had borne her uncle for nearly seven years, lay motionless a short distance away, its body partially hidden by an old, partly uprooted tree.

Tears blurring her vision, Annalyn made her way toward the dead animal. It wasn't very far, but the walk seemed endless, each step more difficult than the last.

Fingers rising to cover her mouth, Annalyn scanned the immediate area, then knelt by the poor beast. "He is not here," she breathed before finding her voice. "My uncle is not here."

Angling her head to the side, Annalyn gazed at the poor animal, placed a trembling hand to the side of its neck. "Oh, Abrax," she said as her mask fractured further.

Grief clogged her throat. Annalyn looked up and saw that Haldir had gone ahead and was now standing still, his eyes directed at something she could not yet see. Dread coiling in her gut, she rose on trembling legs, and started in his direction. He met her gaze with a sombre look that said it all.

"No." Her voice cracked. Shaking her head, Annalyn repeated the word—forcefully this time—refusing to believe what his eyes were telling her.

When she finally reached Haldir—at the bottom of a slope wedged between a thicket of trees and a low rock wall—he respectfully lowered his gaze. "I am sorry," was all he said, the words incredibly low. She had to force herself to look.

Sick at heart, Annalyn covered her mouth and took in the grizzly scene.

Her uncle was sitting against a boulder, his body pierced by three arrows. He was completely still, his head tilted down. And though his profile was partially hidden by his hair, Annalyn could see the ashen colour of his skin.

There could be no doubt. He was…

Annalyn's legs gave way, and her knees hit the ground. _This cannot be_ , she thought, unable to accept the sight before her.

Feran, her uncle, the man who had been like a father to her, was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I just wanted to apologize for killing off Feran. I really felt bad when I wrote this scene, but since the story is all laid out in my head, and I am writing with the ending in mind, I couldn't really diverge from this particular arc. I hope you will forgive me. And while this story is quite gloomy right now, I promise there will be joyful moments. So I hope you will bear with me. For those who wish to continue the journey, the next part is now complete. 
> 
> Kindest regards,
> 
> CygnusRift


	12. Requiem

**CHAPTER XII**

**REQUIEM**

The hill-side clearing was shrouded in silence, the mood as heavy and sombre as the rain-thick clouds far away in the south.

His bow hanging at his side, Haldir watched the slow-moving storm in the distance, saw a jagged bolt of lightning split the sky. As the ensuing rumble reached his ears, he drew a long sigh, and looked sidelong at the setting sun. The fiery orb had reached the western horizon, ushering the end of a sad and tragic day.

Feran's death had been a grave disappointment, bearing witness to Annalyn's grief the worst part of all.

A significant part of her world had shattered today. Haldir had seen it in her face, in the way she had fallen to her knees in anguish and disbelief.

With one last sweep of the horizon, Haldir reluctantly spun on his heel and made for the very center of the clearing, where Annalyn was kneeling—still and silent—by the modest cairn they had built earlier that afternoon.

It had been a solemn affair, with very few words spoken in between. While Haldir had gone about gathering suitable stones, Annalyn had arranged her uncle's body as per the traditions of her people. Gently, and with infinite care, she had placed Feran's sword upon his chest, then crossed his hands over the hilt. Soon thereafter, when Haldir had been searching the countryside, her voice had carried on the breeze, reaching his ears as he had bent to retrieve yet another stone. It was a Rohirric song. A lament for fallen kin. Pausing mid-task, Haldir had glanced up—his features bearing a look of commiseration—and simply listened for a moment. His heart had gone out to her then. As it did now.

A lone figure limned with the orange glow of the setting sun, Annalyn maintained her vigil with hunched shoulders and downcast features. A strand of her hair had fallen loose from her disheveled braid and was now feathering against her cheek.

"And?" She asked, sensing his approach. Her voice was flat, hollow.

Haldir made his way to her side. "Nothing," he replied at last. Indeed, there had been no trace of Aldin. No visible tracks. No clues. Only questions. _Is he even alive?_ For Annalyn's sake, Haldir hoped that he was, but experience told him otherwise. _Let us hope I am wrong in this_.

Annalyn nodded but did not turn to meet his eyes. As the sun sank further down, she angled her head to the side, and laid her palm on the cairn. "May you find peace, uncle." With these murmured words, she closed her eyes as if to gather herself. When she finally rose, Haldir noted that her hand was resting protectively on the leather satchel that now hung from her shoulder.

It had belonged to Feran, and though most of its contents had been looted by Orcs, it contained a small tinderbox and a hand-carved smoking pipe. The latter obviously meant a great deal to Annalyn. When she had first seen it, tears had welled in her eyes. "He made this, you know," she had said, a fleeting smile piercing through her grief. "Strange thing is, he never smoked."

Haldir had watched her for a long moment, inventorying the emotions in her faraway gaze. Pain had been at the fore, clearly too vast to contain, but there had been fondness also, a warmth that most likely stemmed from a cherished memory.

The sight had struck a chord in him, and he had found himself wondering about her life, about what she had lived through during her short time in this world. Though he had no answer to that, and would not pry, something told him that Annalyn had endured much in her life. And not merely on this day.

Presently, Annalyn turned away from her uncle's grave, and went to stand a short distance away, with her back to Haldir.

Giving her the space he felt she needed, Haldir bent his gaze on her uncle's cairn, and quietly bid him to find peace in death. " _Hiro hîdh nen gurth Feran_ …"

Long moments passed. Having paid his respects, he made his way to Annalyn's side, and together they watched a raucous murder of crows in the treetops to the west. The black birds had been there for quite a while, cawing and squabbling as they dove beneath the darkened canopy to feast on the Orcs that were now rotting on the forest floor.

"Aldin is alive," Annalyn declared after a heavy silence.

Uncertain of how to respond, or whether he even should, Haldir waited for her to say more. She did.

"I have to believe that he is. To do otherwise… I cannot." She looked to him then, her eyes starved for his understanding. "Not yet."

Haldir had always been something of a realist; he knew the odds were not in their favour. If Aldin had escaped unscathed, he would have undoubtedly scoured the area in search of Annalyn—such was the bond of kinship between them. But Haldir had looked, had bent eyes and ears all throughout the day. For naught.

The situation being what it was, Haldir reckoned there were two possibilities: either Aldin had fallen, or else he had been taken somewhere.

At any rate, it did not bode well.

His eyes still rooted to Annalyn's, he considered her before looking away. Despite his reservations, he could not fault her for feeling as she did. For hope, even at its dimmest, was a very powerful thing. If Annalyn needed to hang on to it, he would not extinguish that hope. Not now. Not when there was still a chance, albeit a very slim one. He nodded.

His thoughts eventually shifting to what lay ahead, Haldir voiced what was on his mind. "Night is nearly upon us," he stated, then added regretfully. "We cannot linger here overlong."

"I know." With that, Annalyn turned and walked past Haldir. As her shoulder brushed against his, he caught her gaze ever so briefly. To his knowledge she had not wept, yet her eyes were red-rimmed and dull. It pained him to see her so.

Making for a grassy area by the cairn, Annalyn bent to retrieve her cloak. When she straightened, Haldir felt compelled to say something. "For what it is worth, I am truly sorry for what has befallen your uncle. I wish…" He paused, searching for the right words. None seemed adequate. "I wish things would have unfolded differently."

For her part, Annalyn seemed to appreciate the sentiment. As they stood there, with the wind stirring the grass between them, she inclined her head in thanks, then her gaze fell away, and she donned her cloak. As she worked to secure the stays at her throat, Haldir watched her for a moment. From the slight crease in her brows, it was clear that her thoughts were in motion.

"Before all of this happened, before you found me," Annalyn started as she made her way over. "You had been sent for a specific task. Tracking these hordes."

Haldir inclined his head in answer.

For several heartbeats, it seemed as though she was debating something within herself. At last, Annalyn swallowed hard and leveled her gaze at him. "I am going," she said then explained. "It is my best chance to find Aldin."

Before he could speak, Annalyn averted her eyes, and spoke once more. "If you'd rather we part ways, I will not hold it against you." She was busying herself by adjusting her sword-belt. "I might slow you down, and… well…" This time, she did look to him, her voice low when she said, "You have done enough for me."

"Do you truly believe this?" Haldir was taken aback by her words. "That I would leave you behind?"

Annalyn seemed genuinely unsure. "No. Well. I could not be certain… did not want to presume."

"It is not in my nature to leave a friend behind." His own words struck him as they left his mouth. Before now, Haldir had only thought of her as a traveller who had crossed his path, someone he hardly knew, but liked well enough. _Is she a friend?_ He considered this, and the list that was now forming in his mind. Annalyn was strong-willed, proud, albeit impulsive at times. But she was kind, and brave also, with a sense of curiosity and wonder that he liked.

Friend. Haldir considered her. _I suppose I can call her such_. He already had.

For her part, Annalyn blushed a little at what he had said. Despite her grief, he saw the corner of her mouth curve in the tiniest smile. "Well, then... What now? Friend."

He gave it some thought. "We have a common enemy, and we are both seeking answers. How about we see this through to the end?" Haldir asked, then added, "Together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I would like to thank my readers and reviewers, as well as those who have bookmarked or are subscribed to the story. For those who are interested in continuing the journey, feel free to check back in or subscribe. I suppose I should get back to writing now. Thanks again!
> 
> Kindest regards,
> 
> CygnusRift


	13. The Long Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, I thought this chapter would be ready by Monday. Then when the weekend started I thought maybe by Sunday. But my writing day proved rather productive and I finished the chapter earlier than expected. So here it is. But first things first, I want to thank all my readers, those who have commented, those who have left kudos, and all who have subscribed. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.

**CHAPTER XIII**

**THE LONG WALK**

Two days had passed when Haldir and Annalyn finally found the horde's trampled trail. Two strenuous days during which Annalyn did her best to match Haldir's unflagging pace.

Hour after hour, league after league, they marched, sometimes pushing late into the night. It was demanding, grueling even, but Annalyn welcomed the challenge, for it gave her something to focus on—anything to manage her grief and anger, her fears. All those emotions. So many of them.

 _Square your shoulders. Lift your chin. Breathe._ This mental encouragement had become her lifeline of sorts, repeating time and again at the fore of her mind. It worked, for the most part. But not always.

Despite her efforts, her thoughts would stray every now and again, usually without warning, dragging her back to the heart-shattering moment Haldir had found her uncle's body. Even now, the image remained graven in her mind.

 _Why?_ She often asked herself. _Why did this have to happen?_

There were no answers. Never would be.

Annalyn marched onward in hopes of exhausting her misery. With each passing day, it seemed her thoughts grew more distant. Some days, she could scarcely think at all. So she followed Haldir, too numb to object, let alone take the lead.

As they neared the Gladden Fields, the scenery slowly started to change. Old, imposing trees gave way to spindly ones. In some areas, they were clustered so close together that the Orcs had been forced to hack them down, making a wide path of churned mud and flattened branches that sometimes caught on Annalyn's boots. It slowed her down some, and made for a dreary walk. Haldir, on the other hand, could navigate the obstacle with ease. A small part of her envied him.

"There will be marshes up ahead," he stated at one point, before the festering smell had even reached her nose.

 _Wonderful_ , Annalyn thought but said nothing. If truth be told, she would cross a thousand nasty marshes if it meant finding Aldin, or Heremod, his horse. _And Cobalt_ , she added with a heavy heart. How she missed her gentle steed.

In the end, they were given a small reprieve, for the tracks eventually veered to the east, avoiding the worst of the marshes. They seemed to go in that direction for a long way.

During that time, Annalyn deferred to Haldir, often regarding him as he walked ahead of her.

They spoke little during that time, which suited the growing deadness of her mood. Besides, what would she talk about? Her life? Her kin? Annalyn had not spoken of them in days, not since they had left her uncle's resting place in that forlorn clearing somewhere to the south of them. The pain was simply too great, her grief and fretfulness encompassing beyond words. It was easier to keep it all inside.

Thus passed their three day journey along the southern edge of the Gladden Fields. The area was shrouded in mist, the light so cold and grey it leeched all colour from Haldir's hair, making it appear almost silver. Along the way, they saw a few dark pools ringed with reeds and rushes, and more of those thin, leafless trees. According to Haldir, this area would be filled with wildflowers in the summer months, with many Yellow Irises.

"Have you travelled here often?" she found herself asking.

"I have," he answered, lifting a low-hanging branch so they could pass. "But not in many years."

"Scouting?" The question left her lips before she realised. Taken aback by her sudden desire to talk, Annalyn watched as he gave a nod. As he waited for her, she ducked beneath the branch before yielding the lead once more. Resuming her walk, she adjusted the shoulder strap of her satchel. "You must have been young at the time."

Though his features betrayed very little, she could have sworn she saw his mouth twitch at that. He seemed amused. "Not exactly."

Before she could ask what he meant, Haldir looked as if he had heard something in the distance. He stopped and cocked his head to the side. "Do you hear it?"

Annalyn frowned but, hearing nothing, shook her head.

"Water. And much of it," he explained. "It is running swiftly. We must be close to the Anduin." Haldir was already moving, hurrying ahead with renewed vigor.

Yet, even as they sought to catch up with the Orcs—covering as much ground as possible, as quickly as possible—Haldir was not blind to her limits. Every so often, he would glance over his shoulder, his inquiring eyes seeking confirmation that she could keep going. Unwilling to slow down, Annalyn would nod each and every time. _We need to move. We need to find Aldin_.

Indeed, it had become her sole purpose, a reason to keep going.

The companions came within sight of the river shortly before nightfall, as the sun hovered just above the trees, casting its orange light on the shimmering current.

Anduin the Great.

It was much wider than the Silverlode, but judging by the many rocks protruding here and there, the water was not very deep in this place, which was a mercy considering how close they were to winter.

The Orcs' tracks, Annalyn saw, led right to the water's edge, the prints clear and precise in the drying mud. "These footprints are fresh. More so than before."

"A day old at the most," Haldir agreed, his eyes scanning the forest on the other side. "We are gaining ground."

A sense of urgency filled her at these words, and no small amount of apprehension. The Orcs were close, the cursed creatures that had stolen so much from her. Her lips set in a thin line, Annalyn instinctively touched the hilt of her blade, anger surging within her being.

"Come," Haldir said gently, as though he had sensed her thoughts. "Night will be upon us soon."

He was right.

Nodding, she sought to quell her rioting emotions by taking a steadying breath. As she watched her companion hop on the first rock, Annalyn had to thank the fates for sending him on her path.

Haldir's help had been invaluable thus far. Truly.

Sedate and focused, he stalked the Orcs' path with a calm assurance that was quite reassuring to her. While she was capable of taking care of herself, Annalyn was neither delusional nor stupid. Even with a companion, crossing the wilds was perilous in these dark times. To go about it alone, nipping at the heels of a very large company of Orcs, would have been absolute folly, a hopeless endeavour.

To be sure, Annalyn could not imagine being out here without him—and certainly wouldn't be if he hadn't found her when he had.

Since their first meeting, nigh on forty days ago, Annalyn had seen different sides of Haldir; from wary sentinel and reluctant guide, to a courteous companion and friend. It had been a gradual transition, one for which she was now glad.

They were nearing the second half of the river. As they crossed, the gaps between the rocks widened, but not so much that they had to go into the water. For the final leap, Annalyn accepted Haldir's help, her hand reaching for his as she jumped. When her feet landed on the riverbank, Haldir held her eyes for a moment, his fingers still clasped around hers.

"Can you continue?" he asked.

"Yes," Annalyn replied, her breath frosting between them. "Lead the way."

And he did, drawing back and turning, holding her gaze for a beat longer as he did so.

* * *

Light was dwindling, and the air was growing colder. As they wound their way among the trees, each step bringing them farther and farther from the Anduin, Haldir and Annalyn gradually left the Gladden Fields behind. Gone were the reeds and rushes, the silent pools. The forest was much more open here, with a smooth terrain that sloped gently here and there.

They were making good progress, had maintained an even pace since striking out across the river, a little over a day ago. Mindful of potential foes, however, the two spoke very little, and kept a watchful eye on their surroundings.

Fortunately, thus far, Haldir sensed nothing amiss.

Save for a lone owl, and the occasional foraging rabbit, the forest around them lay mostly dormant, awaiting winter's chill. Haldir had felt it for several days now, could even smell it at times: the impending change of season. A skyward glance confirmed it, for _Remmirath_ , a formation known as the Netted Stars, sparkled high overhead. Soon, it would reach its highest point, ushering the season of cold winds and snow.

For a moment, it made him think of home. Fair Lothlórien. It was different in the Golden Wood, for the realm was kept alive and pure, even in the dead of winter. In the course of a year, the most notable change was in the leaves. A vibrant green in the spring and summer, the _mallyrn_ 's foliage would turn gold at the beginning of autumn, and would remain that way all winter long, falling only when the cycle began anew, and the spring greens opened.

Lothlórien was a very special place indeed, the only one of its kind this side of the Great Sea. Like a capsule in time, it endured, enjoying a vibrancy that had long since departed the rest of Middle-earth.

But how long would it last?

Haldir had no answer to that. Perhaps it was better that way.

His thoughts turning to the Orcs, Haldir considered the trail. _Where are they headed?_ he wondered for what seemed the thousandth time. Looking to the stars, he consulted the directional map contained within their shimmering patterns. _Mirkwood_ , he suddenly realised. _They are making for Mirkwood_.

He narrowed his eyes. _What for?_ "What are you up to?"

"What was that?" Annalyn's query pulled him from his thoughts, making him realise that he had, in fact, spoken aloud.

"Nothing," Haldir murmured at length, but not in a dismissive way.

Turning, he looked to Annalyn, and saw that her cheeks were pink. So was the tip of her nose. Watching her, he couldn't help but note the weariness in her gait.

"We have covered much ground this day," he said as she neared.

Annalyn had pushed hard these past few days, it was true. She had followed with grim determination, league after league, never complaining. But as much as he admired her resolve, there were limits to Annalyn's endurance. She was bone-tired.

Mindful of this, he indicated the surrounding woods, saying, "We should look for a suitable place to spend the night."

Seemingly too tired to disagree, Annalyn merely nodded.

After a brief search, they made camp in a quiet little dell ringed with birch trees. The starlit ground was soft, covered in a rich carpet of dry leaves.

While Annalyn sought a place to rest, Haldir made for the largest of the surrounding trees. Hand reaching for the sturdiest looking branch, he then swung himself upwards, and started to climb. His boots finding purchase on the bark, he went as high as he dared, and looked all around. Detecting no immediate sign of Orcs, Haldir turned his focus to the east. Though he could not yet see anything, he thought he heard a sound, faint yet persistent, borne upon the wind.

Indistinct as it was, Haldir estimated that they were less than a day's march from its source. Orcs, he decided. It had to be.

Making his way back down, he found Annalyn as she opened the pack that he had left for her.

"You must be hungry," she observed, retrieving the leaf wrappings that contained their usual repast. "Come. Sit by me."

Doing as she asked, Haldir sat cross-legged, to her right, and accepted the proffered bread with a courteous nod.

They ate in companionable silence, chewing their morsel as the stars winked overhead. "You would not, by any chance, have any of that cordial with you?" Though lighthearted, Annalyn's words were laced with guarded hope, her breath visible in the near glacial breeze.

"Alas, I carry no such thing," Haldir replied regretfully, recalling that first night, when she and her kin had wandered into the elven woods. He had given her a warming drink that night, for the air had been cool, though nowhere near as cold as it was now.

"Ah," she said, glancing at him, the corner of her mouth lifting anyway. "Oh well."

"I have a confession," she began some time later. "When your brother brought me that cordial at your behest, I was hesitant. I thought it might be laced with something." Embarrassment crept onto her features. "You must think me foolish."

His mouth pulled in a half-smile. "Nay. You were cautious. That is not a bad thing."

Annalyn shifted slightly, hands rising to adjust the hood of her cloak. Heaving a sigh, she then looked up and out, her profile soft and wistful.

As the surrounding branches swayed and groaned, Haldir watched his companion for a long moment, noted the faraway look in her hazel eyes. When the corner of her mouth curved ever so slightly—her first smile in many days—he understood that she was reliving something, a precious moment no doubt.

He briefly wondered at it, but did not pry. Instead, it was Annalyn who spoke. "The people of the Westfold must be tucked away in their houses right about now, sitting by the hearth, listening to stories."

For a moment, Haldir thought she would speak of her loved-ones, friends and kin who awaited her return. But she didn't, saying instead, "You know, back in Rohan, they tell peculiar stories about Elves."

"Oh?"

"Before I met you, I thought Elves were elusive and treacherous, wielders of magic who took our men captive, never to be seen again." A soft, mirthful laugh rose in her throat. "At least, that is what my grandfather always said, though nobody knew for certain. Your people were something of a myth, to be honest, mere characters in fireside fairy tales."

Fighting his broadening smile, Haldir arched an eyebrow. "And what do you make of us now?"

"Well..." Annalyn schooled her features and cleared her throat. "From what I have seen, Elves are cautious, helpful, and kind. Elusive," she added. "The stories were not wrong on that point. Hmm, let us see. What else? They make a most hearty bread. Oh, and they have great balance."

As Annalyn continued, laughing softly as she painted a most flattering image of his kindred, Haldir found himself watching her face.

"You should have dealings with your neighbours more often," she finished at last. "That way your people would not be so… misrepresented."

Haldir chuckled at that, echoing her last word. "Misrepresented. I shall make a note of it."

Their gazes held for a beat longer, but gradually, inevitably, the levity of the moment passed, replaced instead by the knowledge of what they might face tomorrow.

"You should get some sleep," he murmured. But even as he rose, bidding her good night, Haldir thought about their previous exchange and the mirth in Annalyn's eyes.

It had been good to see.


	14. Ready or Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! For a while, I thought I would be late in posting this chapter. But here it is, thanks largely to my faithful coffee-maker, who provided the caffeine I needed to see me through this somewhat hectic week lol.
> 
> I want to say a heartfelt thank you to my reviewers, those who have clicked kudos, or are following the story. Your continued interest has meant a great deal to me. 
> 
> Note: This chapter was initially intended to be two separate chapters, but to move the story along, I decided to combine them. In any case, you get bonus stuff to read. ;-)

**CHAPTER XIV**

**READY OR NOT**

Annalyn was cold.

Haldir could see it clearly, had noticed her discomfort while patrolling the periphery of the dell. Wrapped in her cloak, at the foot of a tall birch tree, Annalyn had not yet fallen asleep. She wasn't even lying down. Her knees were drawn up, her lithe frame shivering beneath the fabric of her cloak.

It was true that the air had grown increasingly cold throughout the night. Presently, a chill wind was sweeping through the forest, bending tree limbs, stirring fallen leaves.

His brows creasing in concern, Haldir slung his bow over his shoulder, and briefly pondered what to do.

Earlier that evening, prior to making camp, he and Annalyn had agreed that a fire would not be prudent. While the majority of the Orcs were still beyond their reach, small bands might very well wander in the area, looking for trouble, fresh meat, or both.

But seeing her now, huddled tightly, chilled to the bone, Haldir worried that Annalyn might not make it through the night. He had seen it before, many years ago when a travelling group of Men had gotten lost in the mountains, less than a day's ride from the Golden Wood. He and his brothers had stumbled upon them while on patrol—a group of four, wrapped in woolen cloaks, forever caught in winter's endless sleep.

Unwilling to leave her like this, Haldir cast one last look at the surrounding forest—seeing nothing amiss—and went to her.

"Here," he said softly, removing his cloak as he neared.

At his approach, Annalyn tipped her face upward, regarding him with puzzlement at first, then alarm. "What are you doing?" she asked as he squatted on his shanks, extending his arms so he could drape the garment around her shoulders.

"Are you mad?" she protested even as her teeth chattered. "You will catch your death!"

Unwilling to debate this, Haldir leveled a look at her. "As will you unless you take this cloak."

His fingers making easy work of it, Haldir fastened the garment, while Annalyn watched him as one ponders an enigma. With the cloak wrapped around her form, he then reached for her shoulders, ran his hands up and down her arms, willing warmth back into them.

As he did so, Haldir stole glances at her every now and again. She watched him still. "Won't you be cold?" Annalyn inquired at last. The worst of her trembling had subsided, he noted, and previously tense muscles had begun to relax as warmth gradually returned to her body.

"You need not worry about me," Haldir murmured at length.

Though not impervious to extremes, Elves were rather well suited for the cold, could withstand it much better than Men. Moreover, Haldir was clad in elven garb. Neither thick nor thin, the expertly woven material provided excellent protection against the elements, keeping the wearer warm or cool at need.

Satisfied that she was comfortable, Haldir turned his attention to her hands and, covering them with his own, found that they were freezing.

No sooner had he done so than Annalyn glanced down. "Your fingers," she said, perplexed. "You wear no gloves, and yet… so warm." Her eyes sought his then. "How can that be?"

When Haldir gave no answer, Annalyn shook her head slightly, mirth suffusing her tired features when she said, "You are quite strange, Haldir of Lórien."

An amused glance as his response, Haldir continued to knead her fingers, her knuckles, the inside of her palms. In time, he sought her gaze. "Better?"

"Much." A beat went by, and then another. "Thank you."

Reassured, Haldir nodded once and rose. "Sleep well," he told her, hoping she would. While Annalyn shifted to lie on her side, closing her eyes as she pillowed her head on her arm, Haldir turned and resumed his watch.

Save for the wind, and the distant sounds he had discerned earlier in the night, all seemed quiet in the forest around them. But danger, he knew, would not be far off. He could sense it in the wind, could feel it in the marrow of his bones.

 _Tomorrow_ , he said to himself. Tomorrow would be the day they finally caught up with the Orcs. A part of him was glad of it—he had been tasked with tracking them, after all—but he was troubled also.

Disquieted, Haldir circled the dell, before glancing at Annalyn's slumbering form. If truth be told, he worried for her.

Though quite capable of taking care of herself, Annalyn was not a trained warrior. Oh, she had skill with a blade—he had seen her practicing a few times, usually in the morning prior to setting off—but how she would fare in actual battle, Haldir did not know. Having never asked, he wondered if she had ever fought before, against a real foe who was out for real blood. Because training and actual fighting were two very different things in his eyes.

As windswept leaves skittered over his boots, Haldir remembered how Feran had fought. Valiantly by the looks of it. But in the end, valour hadn't been enough, and he had fallen.

 _A shame and a waste_ , Haldir thought with genuine sadness for Annalyn. For losing a loved one was a hard thing to bear, the hardest even—he would know, having lost a great deal himself.

Looking to the stars, Haldir heaved a sigh. _Death_ , he thought ruefully, pondering its meaning. In many ways, it was different for his people. Different but no less painful.

First and oldest children of Ilúvatar, Elves were, in essence, immortal. The passage of time did not ravage them, nor was pestilence ever a concern.

According to the eldest and wisest of his kindred, if an Elf was slain, or somehow lost the will to live, his or her essence merely passed into the Halls of Mandos, in the Undying Lands beyond the western shores. There, they would wait in solitary observation, seeing the world without being able to affect or touch it in any way.

In that time of Waiting, those who needed it could be strengthened and comforted. And to those who were healed, it was said that a choice would be given: to remain in the Halls of Mandos, or return to life and commune with the living once again.

Thus it was for the Elves. They were bound to the world. So long as it existed, they would endure.

Such was not the case with Men. For one thing, their lives were incredibly fleeting, and when they passed on it was said that their spirits did not linger in the Halls of Mandos. Rather, they departed, leaving the circles of the world altogether. But where to? Haldir did not know.

It seemed no one did.

Even as he pondered this, Haldir had to own that as ephemeral as their lives were, Men and other mortal folk experienced an incredible amount of things during their time here. From birth to adulthood, old age and death. With children in between. And grandchildren. And for an enduring few great-grandchildren as well.

Life. The good. The bad. The curiosity and the thirst for adventure. All of it stuffed into a few dozen years if one was lucky enough. One had to admire that, as Haldir had come to do—though admittedly, his opinion of Men hadn't always been so favourable.

Some might call it arrogance, but truth of the matter was, Elves were largely unconcerned with the race of Men—or any mortal races for that matter. Barring a few exceptions, Haldir felt that Men lacked wisdom and patience. To him, it seemed they were a restless people, born with an incessant need to shape and re-shape their lives. Indeed, change was often their aim, in a world that was evolving far too rapidly in his eyes.

But some, he now knew, yearned for naught but a quiet life. A life of laughter and kinship and simple pleasures, like warm meals and stories shared around a campfire. Annalyn and her kin had lived in just such a fashion. They had wandered far and wide, risking life and limb not for glory, but to provide medicine to those who relied on them, their friends and neighbours, proud peasants of the Westfold.

Though he had not known them long, Annalyn and her kin had shown their quality, and opened his eyes in many ways, broadening his long-held perceptions. During their march through the Golden Wood, Haldir had noted their determination, their vibrancy of life. Indeed, he had noticed those traits in each of them, first in Feran, then later in Aldin. But most of all, he had seen those traits in Annalyn, and still did.

In spite of the hardships she faced, Annalyn had not given up. She pushed ahead, day after day. And while her eyes were now tinged with sadness, she had lost none of her kindness. She was also brave.

Haldir had seen it during that first crossing, then again on that fateful night, when she had stood, weaponless but defiant, before that Warg-rider. She could have cowered and begged for her life—many would have—but she hadn't. Instead, Annalyn had lifted her chin and stared at the creature, flinching only when Haldir had loosed his arrows, killing the wretched thing and the beast upon which it rode.

Night deepened. All remained quiet. His bow in hand, Haldir approached a low-hanging tree-limb and hoisted himself up. Once he was sitting comfortably, he laid his weapon across his lap, then cast one last look at Annalyn.

Even now, she held to hope. The hope of finding Aldin, alive and unscathed. Though he, himself, found it doubtful.

Haldir's heart grew heavy. Whatever they would find tomorrow, whatever perils they might face, he would see her safely through it. Somehow.

But if anything went wrong. If—

No.

He would complete his appointed task, gathering knowledge about the Orcs while warding her as best he could, until she could go home again. It would not erase her pain, he knew, nor would it bring back her uncle, but it was something. And he would see it done.

* * *

Annalyn awoke at first light, warm and snug in her dual layering of cloaks. Blinking a few times, she stretched and looked up, beyond the naked branches, to a pale sky streaked with clouds.

"So she awakens."

At Haldir's words, Annalyn tilted her head back, saw that he was crouched nearby, his pack laying open at his feet as he rummaged through its contents. "I trust you are rested?" he inquired but kept to his task.

She stifled a yawn and rubbed her face. "I am." Sitting up, Annalyn thought about the previous night and the kindness he had shown her by lending her his cloak. It had been selfless of him, a bit reckless even—or so she had first thought. Elves, it seemed, were not overly bothered by the cold.

She might have known, should have remembered that clear autumn day in the woods of Lothlórien, when Haldir had braved the frigid waters of the Silverlode to come to her aid. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Presently, he was closing his pack, and though his gaze was downcast, the set of his features left little doubt that he was preoccupied. When he glanced up, his stare intent as he pondered the eastern horizon, Annalyn understood his mood, looked in the same direction.

The Orcs were out there, much closer than she cared to admit. Even so, nothing was going to stop her at this point. Not her fears. Not her doubts. Aldin might be out there, and if he was, she was going to find him.

Since overthinking would do little good at this point, Annalyn got to her feet. "Here," she told her companion, managing a small but grateful smile. "Your cloak."

Extending the garment, she caught its now familiar scent—a woody blend that reminded her of cedarwood and cloves. How a cloak could smell so nice after so many leagues, Annalyn had no idea. But it did.

"This will likely be our last rest for a while," Haldir warned her as he donned the garment.

"I know."

"Light is gathering fast," he continued, looking to the sky. "The area should be safe enough now." Back to her, he explained that there was a hill nearby, with very tall trees—a good point from which to get a better sense of what lay ahead. "I should like to have a look before we set out again."

It had become a habit of his, these little excuses that allowed him to slip away in the mornings, affording them some much needed privacy. "I will return shortly," Haldir assured her before leaving.

For a few heartbeats, Annalyn simply looked after him, watching until he had disappeared through the forest. Her focus shifting to more immediate concerns, she started in the opposite direction, in search of a sheltered spot amongst the trees. Nature was calling.

Shortly thereafter, as she made her way back to where they had spent the night, Annalyn spotted a tiny pool of water near a cluster of cedar trees. In truth, it was too small to be called a pool. It was clear, though, remarkably so. If it hadn't been so cold, she might have washed up a little. _If only I had supplies_.

An iron pot would have been most useful. With it, she could have heated the near-freezing water. But when the Orcs had come within view of her camp on that awful night, and sent her company scrambling, Annalyn had lost most of her supplies. Some had been on her horse, the rest carried by her kin. Things like furs, spare clothing, the simple but effective soap that she had made using ash and animal fat. Traps and snares, a tent, a pot and a pan, even a bow for hunting wild game.

All gone.

But then, these were things, all replaceable, unlike her loved ones who could never be replaced.

Holding to a fraying thread of hope, Annalyn knelt by the water, rinsed her hands, and thought about what she might face today, what she might find.

Pondering various outcomes, Annalyn looked down at her distorted reflection, reached for her disheveled braid, and worked it loose. Given that she might have to fight, it seemed most sensible to tie it all back, if only to keep the strands out of her eyes. Using her fingers to comb it through, she gathered the length of her hair to one side, and plaited it once again.

Her hair secure, Annalyn continued toward camp, then reached for her blade. Her mind on the Orcs, she pulled it free of its sheath, and examined the hilt as she walked. So it was not the finest sword in existence, but it was hers, and it meant a great deal to her.

It would do. It had to.

With the flat of her thumb, she checked the edge of the blade, found it sharp. Then, holding the sword in front her, Annalyn tested its weight, swung it a few times.

 _Ready or not_ …

Apprehension growing with every step, she considered what she might be up against. It wasn't that she feared dying—for death was inevitable in the end, a fate shared by all who walked upon this Earth—but she was not fearless either. Truth be told, what Annalyn feared most was defeat, finding that Aldin had been killed or tortured, or simply not finding him at all.

 _Courage_ , she thought to herself. _Do not despair yet_.

Annalyn's sword sliced through the air one more time, on a downstroke, the blade glinting in the morning light. When she pivoted, as if to face an imaginary opponent, something moved at the edge of her sight.

Haldir had returned.

A flush rising to her cheeks, Annalyn glanced at him, but maintained her form. His blue eyes were watching her, a glimmer of curiosity just visible in his features. He started in her direction.

For an instant, she debated putting her sword away, but changed her mind when Haldir unsheathed his own blade. "What's this?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "A lesson?" _Does he doubt my skill?_ The notion irked her somewhat and scratched her pride—she _could_ fight. Neverthleless, Annayn recognized the perils that surely lay ahead. And with Aldin's life hanging in the balance…

Readying her stance, Annalyn reluctantly swallowed her pride. With a newfound willingness to listen and perhaps learn something, she watched as Haldir came to stand in front of her. He crossed his blade with hers, held her eyes. "You see this part here?" He slid the end of his sword closer to the hilt of hers, and locked it there. "Your strength." His gaze did not waver. "Your opponent's weakness."

Ah, but this she knew. Emboldened, she smirked and twisted her wrist, easily dislodging his blade, Silverwind.

Seemingly pleased, Haldir inclined his head, and put his blade away. But then he ventured a question, asking if she had ever fought before.

"I have," Annalyn admitted. "Once," she mumbled under her breath. Her cheeks colouring a little, she looked away, then promptly busied herself by slipping her sword back into its scabbard.

Roughly five years had passed since that night, when Orcs had encircled their camp, somewhere in the Gap of Rohan. Numbering four in all, the creatures had crept in, hoping to catch her company unawares. But her uncle, who had been standing watch, had roused them with a shout, then a battle had broken out.

Back to back, Annalyn and her kin had taken on the creatures. The Orcs had been fierce, fiercer than she had anticipated. Nevertheless, she had held her own for a while. When it appeared that victory was at hand, Annalyn had swung what she had believed to be the killing blow, but not before Aldin had moved in, finding a weak spot between the armour plates and running the Orc clean through.

Though certainly grateful that the battle was over, Annalyn had felt rather cheated at the time. It wasn't that she had relished the thought of killing, but she had oft wondered how she might fare in actual battle.

" _Why did you interfere?_ " she had demanded, turning to her cousin. " _That filth was done for._ _I had him!_ "

But Aldin—barely a man at the time—had merely arched a brow, half-teasing, half-boasting when he had said, " _You are most welcome, my lady_."

She could have throttled him.

But then, after she had brooded for a full day, Aldin had approached her with a heartfelt apology. Even now, she remembered him saying, " _I do not always show it, nor have I said it… but you have strength in you, Annalyn, and much courage. More so than some of the men in our village._ " His words had been repentant, his eyes even more so. " _Next time, unless you wish me to, I will not interfere_."

But there hadn't been a next time. Now that she was older, and hopefully wiser, Annalyn recognized that it was a good thing, for any battle could go ill. And she would not risk her safety, nor that of her loved ones, just to prove a point.

In the years that followed, her company had been rather fortunate. Seldom had they seen the creatures, and whenever they did, they had grown adept at passing unnoticed. Until recently that is.

Back to the here and now, Annalyn avoided Haldir's lingering gaze. Embarrassed by her lack of fighting experience, she readjusted her sword-belt and started walking, changing the subject when she asked, "What say you? Are you ready to track some Orc?"

They went.

Morning waned, and the clouds moved in. Thick and dark, they rolled overhead, threatening rain, perhaps even snow. Her gaze occasionally darting to the skies, Annalyn maintained a brisk stride, following her companion out of the forest, and across an increasingly open landscape.

Far in the distance ahead, she spied what appeared to be a tall ridge of some kind. Dotted with isolated clusters of trees, it rose like wave, and stretched for a long way, north and south. A thick line of evergreens stood at its feet, most of them spreading in a southerly direction.

Determined to reach the ridge before nightfall—when Orcs might come out and see them from afar—they filed along, stopping only for brief periods, during which Annalyn would sip some water and catch her breath.

Day was growing late when they finally reached the foot of the slope. From afar, it had looked rather smooth, but now that Annalyn had a better view, the terrain seemed a lot more rugged, especially near the top.

"What lies on the other side? Do you know?" She voiced her questions when Haldir came to a brief halt, his elven eyes trained on the stunted trees which grew up top.

"A narrow valley, beyond which stands the forest of Mirkwood."

"Mirkwood," Annalyn echoed. The name was unfamiliar to her. "It sounds ominous."

"It is not a pleasant place." Haldir seemed sorrowful all of a sudden. "Though it was not always so. Indeed, there was a time when it was quite beautiful. Greenwood the Great it was called."

She had never heard of it either.

Together, they started up the escarpment. It was going to be a long climb. Careful step by careful step, they rounded boulders, hopped over fissures, climbed and climbed until light started to fade. Before darkness had fallen completely, Haldir sought cover behind some trees, and lowered his voice. "The Orcs are close. Can you hear them?" She could, but faintly. Haldir continued, "With those clouds, night will fall quickly, and soon the top of that ridge will likely be crawling with Orcs and Wargs." He was moving again. "Come."

Gripped by an odd blend of anticipation and fear, Annalyn scanned the length of the escarpment, seeing neither Orc nor movement, and resumed the climb.

Night gained dominance over the sky. His gaze darting about the nearby hilltop, Haldir stopped by yet another tree, and appeared to be debating how to proceed. At length, he turned to her. She had never seen him looking so grim and serious, not even on that first day, when he and his brothers had surrounded her company in ambush.

"We must be cautious," he told her. "We cannot risk engagement."

Annalyn nodded, her panting breaths frosting in the air. Despite the cold, her hands felt clammy all of a sudden, her ears filled with the loud drumming of her heart. Whether he saw it writ on her face, or else he simply sensed her trepidation, Haldir gave a small, encouraging nod. "Follow my lead and they will not see us." The moment hung there. "Have trust in me."

With that, he turned, and she watched him go. _I do trust you_. A dim smile came to paint her mouth. _More than you know_.

She followed.

Up and forward they crept, toward the very top of the escarpment, which was now quite close. A few paces ahead of her, Haldir reached it first. Crouching low, he stole away toward a large rock, hiding behind it before chancing a look on the other side.

Although she could not yet see what he saw, Annalyn perceived the change in his posture, knew that it wasn't good. Sounds now filled the air, roaring voices, she thought, and metal clangs. Crawling the rest of the way, she made it to Haldir's side, swallowed hard, then braved a look.

She gasped.


	15. A Valley of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Finally, it's Friday! I'm sooo ready for the weekend. This was a hectic week, but somehow I made it. I'm so glad I have outlines and draft chapters lined up for a sizeable part of this story. It made things so much easier this week. This part was pretty much all written. It just needed some editing. In all, I think I'm up to 62 chapters so far--yeah, I warned you this was going to be a long story. I hope that's okay lol. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks to all my readers and reviewers, those who have clicked kudos or are following the story. Your continued interest has meant the world to me. Also, a heartfelt thank you goes to Wenderful52 for recommending my story to her readers on the latest chapter of her series Legolas, Ion nîn. That was really cool of you. (I would link her story on here, but I haven't quite mastered this site yet.) 
> 
> So anyway, here is the next part.

**CHAPTER XV**

**A VALLEY OF DARKNESS**

"Gracious…" Annalyn spoke as though the wind had been knocked out of her. "Is that—"

"A war camp," Haldir finished for her. He flexed the muscles of his jaw. His mouth thinned in a line. _I should have known_. Perhaps he had.

Like a stain on the landscape, the camp stretched before them in a wide carpet of armoured figures, dirty tents, and flickering torches. A great din also filled the area: the sound of axes felling trees, the echoing clatter of metal boots, even the crack of whips as higher ranking Orcs barked out orders below.

His lip curling in disgust, Haldir watched it all, cataloging everything he saw. He could even smell their stink from here.

"I do not understand." Annalyn shook her head. There was a look of horror upon her face. "What's a war camp doing out here?"

This was an isolated area, it was true, far from any city, elven or otherwise. Nevertheless, Haldir could see the merit in gathering here. "It is a staging point. Look." Pointing to the left side of the camp, he indicated a large company of soldiers that was marching in from the north. Most likely they came from Gundabad, where it was known that Orcs still dwelt, in the far reaches of the Misty Mountains.

"They are biding their time," he continued, his narrowed eyes still trained on the valley below. "Amassing forces until they are ready to launch an attack." It was plain to see.

By his reckoning, there were well over three thousand Orcs in this filthy camp alone. Doubtless that number would grow.

Annalyn was silent for a moment. "So it is true, then. War really is coming."

When Haldir did not say anything, she shifted a little, trying to get a better view. "Where do you suppose they'll strike?"

He considered it for a moment, disquiet filling his being when he settled on the likeliest possibility. "My first guess? Lothlórien," he answered grimly, though he supposed they could also make for the realm of his woodland kin, on the northeastern side of Mirkwood.

Not that it would matter in the end. If he had ever doubted it, Haldir knew it now. War was looming—directed by a hidden malice somewhere. And once it was unleashed, his intuition told him it would spread like wildfire, threatening all the free peoples in all the lands.

Several moments went by as they spied the chaotic scene below. Some of the Orcs were toiling under their master's whips. Others were arguing amongst themselves. Harsh voices, foul words. Such wretched creatures, Haldir thought, with such malice in them.

"Do you think he could be down there somewhere?" Annalyn's query brought him out of his thoughts. Her tone was subdued, her voice even lower than before.

Looking to her, Haldir caught the way she was staring at the camp below. Her features were starved for hope, her anxious gaze searching for any indication that Aldin might be there.

For his part, Haldir answered in the only way he could. "We shall know soon enough."

If he was honest, Haldir had never held much hope of finding Aldin alive. But to witness the same realisation in Annalyn's eyes, to see the first hints of despair as she considered these devastating odds for perhaps the very first time…

_A plague on Orcs and their black hearts!_

Even so, Annalyn had not yet given up. "Can we move any closer?" Her voice had hardened somewhat, and her gaze was fixed on the camp below. Until now, he had never seen such hatred in her eyes.

Haldir spoke in whispers. "We cannot get too close. Not without them seeing us." Still, even as he said this, he found himself scanning the hillside, looking for possible openings in the Orcs' patrols. It might have been folly, mere wishful thinking for Annalyn's sake, but he could not turn back just yet, extinguishing what little hope remained, before making absolutely certain that Aldin was not, in fact, here somewhere.

Besides, there were things to learn in this awful place, clues that might shed light on where the Orcs meant to strike first.

His hands readjusting his hood, he pursed his lips and assessed the situation further. There were several Warg-riders patroling the periphery—at least three on this side alone. Since Orcs had a very keen sense of smell, it was a good thing the wind was blowing from the east, otherwise he and Annalyn might have been detected by now.

"I have an idea," he told her at length, then caught the question in her eyes.

* * *

The Orcs kept a tight patrol, making the periphery of their camp nigh on impenetrable.

Keeping to Haldir's right, Annalyn eyed her surroundings and made her way, on hands and knees, toward a wooded section of the hill, on the south-western edge of the enemy's encampment.

 _They must not see you,_ she kept telling herself. _They must not see you_.

The Orcs had keen eyes, she knew, and an even keener sense of smell. " _Keep to the west of them_ ," Haldir had warned her prior to setting off. " _And keep watch on the wind. It might turn soon_."

He was silent now, sneaking forth with slow, fluid movements. His stoic features were mostly obscured, the golden mane of his hair hidden beneath the hood of his cloak. What he meant to do once they had reached the woods, she could not say. He had not yet told her of his plan.

Haldir stiffened all of a sudden, and came to a halt. Without looking at her, he held his palm out, bidding her to stay absolutely still.

She did. They waited, watched, and listened. But Annalyn was deaf to everything save the pounding of her heart and the jagged sound of her breathing.

At length, Haldir glanced in her direction, then nudged his head. The path was clear for now.

Releasing the breath she had been holding, Annalyn followed his lead until—after a seemingly endless crawl—they came at last to the eaves of the woods.

After a brief look at the area, Haldir motioned toward a massive tree. At its base was a knot of twisted roots, some of them large enough to hide amongst.

"Yes, good." he whispered as if to himself. "This will do." Once they were concealed, Haldir handed her his waterskin, then his pack. Frowning in puzzlement, she accepted them, slid the straps over her shoulder.

Nodding once, Haldir drew a breath, then sought her eyes. His words, however, were not what she expected to hear. "Those creatures have keen senses but I do not believe they will find you hither. Not if you stay hidden."

She blinked as he spoke, a startled thought blocking some of what he was saying. _What?_

"I have spied on such camps before," he went on. "And can easily avoid being seen. Whilst I am gone, you should—"

"You jest."

Now it was his turn to blink.

"You mean for me to remain here?" Annalyn was incredulous, and rather upset, for this was _not_ what she had had in mind when she had first decided to track the Orcs. In fact, before they had agreed to continue together, she had made it clear to him that she would follow the Orcs with or without his aid. And now he expected her to stay behind and hide in a tree? No!

Haldir was frowning at her. "One person is harder to spot than two."

"That may be so, but I will not hide out here like a coward while you search for Aldin." By the flaring of his nostrils, she could tell that he was not used to having his directives questioned. Well it mattered not. "Unless you need reminding, I am not one of your soldiers. And you and I?" She motioned back and forth between them. "We are equals out here."

As the crack of a whip echoed in the night, Annalyn held his stare. He did the same. She was upset. They both were. But that being said, each knew the stakes as well. Though unwilling to back down, Annalyn knew it wasn't wise to argue, not here. By Haldir's continued silence, she guessed he was grappling with the same realisation. It took a considerable amount of effort, but ultimately, with a few deep breaths, Annalyn willed her anger to the side, and quietly appealed to his heart. "What if the tables were turned? What if your brothers were down there?"

Her question seemed to have the desired effect, for his head tipped forward, his hair spilling from his hood as he pondered those last words. At length, he sighed and looked up. His full lips had thinned. "Very well. But we cannot march down there. Should they see us—"

"I know," Annalyn cut him off, but not angrily. Regardless of their earlier disagreement, she knew the perils, and they could not be overstated.

Shifting to peek over the roots, the two contemplated the camp below. _So many Orcs_.

"Before aught else," Haldir began after a time, "We must establish whether or not Aldin is even in that camp."

 _That_ they could agree on. But where to begin?

"I still maintain that it would be best if you stayed hither," he said, and she bristled. "Not to hide," he added quickly, anticipating her protest, "But to watch those patrols, and find a pattern."

Stay here? Annalyn heaved a sigh. But then she considered the task. _Not hiding, but watching_. _I suppose there is purpose in that_. "And if Aldin is down there?"

"Then I shall return so we might devise a plan. Agreed?"

She pursed her lips and gave it some thought. "Agreed."

His focus shifting, he glanced up and out, then looked past her shoulder. "You see this forest? Should anything happen, this is where we run, south and west, until we reach the Anduin. It is our best chance."

"Understood." But when he started to leave, she reached out to stop him, said his name. His sleeve remained clutched in her hand. "Your people are counting on you. Be safe." _For them_ , she added inwardly, _and_ _for me_.

The moment hung there. He nodded gravely, as if telling her to take care. With that, Haldir stole away and she watched as he left.

Moving closer to the bole of the tree, Annalyn straightened just enough to be able to see the area. Save for the torch-lit camp below, it was incredibly dark out here, the moon and the stars completely hidden by a thick blanket of clouds.

With her hand now resting on the hilt of her sword, she scanned the valley, and counted the patrols. Their numbers established, she then looked for Haldir, eyes straining until she caught sight of him—not an easy feat to be honest. _Good luck_ , she thought, then felt something cold on the tip of her nose.

Looking up, Annalyn held out her hand, felt the same on the inside of her palm.

It was snowing.


	16. Hunter in the Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I would be updating so soon, but I wrote most of this chapter a long time ago. It was practically finished. So here it is. I hope you are all having a good weekend. :-)

**CHAPTER XVI**

**HUNTER IN THE SHADOWS**

The camp was heavily guarded, with foot patrols and Warg-riders circling at regular intervals. Most carried scimitars, Haldir noted. But some also bore crude bows, with bundles of vile arrows in their quivers.

Those closest to camp looked like prowling shadows, their outlines black and distinct against a backdrop of guttering torches. Though he could not quite see their eyes, Haldir knew they were watching, scanning the area for anything or anyone that might intrude or seek to spy on them.

 _Ah, but you do not see me_ , he thought with grim satisfaction, his fingers splayed on the ground as he hid in the dark, behind a grouping of shrubs less than half a furlong from the first row of tents.

Haldir could see the camp clearly from here—a sizeable section of it anyway. And it was bustling.

Soldiers were still filing in, so was the supply train. Tents were being erected. Casks were being rolled and stacked. And then there were the weapons. Heaping piles of them. More scimitars. Shields and armour plates. Lances. Daggers. Bows and arrows. Rough and basic, but deadly nonetheless.

"Hey maggot! You there!" one of the Orcs shouted to another. Pointing, he indicated a rocky section atop the escarpment, one that overlooked the open land beyond the ridge. "Have a look up there!" Grabbing hold of a fellow patrol, he shoved the creature forward, barked, "And take this slug with you!"

Haldir stiffened at once. Annalyn was up there, concealed in the forest, not far from where the Orcs had been ordered to go. As the patrols made their way up, growling and cursing as they went, he followed them with his eyes, and heaved a sigh of relief when they headed north and west, away from the woods, away from Annalyn. _They will not see her_ , he told himself and felt his posture relax by a fraction.

His attention back on the encampment, Haldir listened to the cacophony of harsh voices, hoping to hear anything that might shed light on their plans. He also looked for Aldin.

Earlier, when Haldir had first crested over the hill, he had seen no sign of him. Now was no different. Row upon row, section by section, he looked and looked but saw neither Men nor cages, nothing to indicate that there were captives here.

Loathe as he was to admit it, it could be as he had feared.

A feeling of defeat came over him just then, along with the bitter taste of disappointment. Annalyn had come all this way, had hung on to hope all of this time… For naught, it seemed. _I will have to tell her_ , he thought, and in so doing would further break the pieces of her crumbling heart.

Haldir was angry. Angry for her. Angry at the Orcs. He was even angry at himself. If only he had reached them sooner that night. Feran might have lived. Aldin wouldn't have vanished. _He is most likely lost_.

A growl suddenly drew his attention, forcing his miserable musings to the side. Glancing to his right, Haldir saw a lone Warg-rider going up the escarpment. The patrol seemed oblivious to his presence. Even in the darkness, Haldir could make out the tribal piercings on the rim of its ear, the ring that went through its bat-like nose. The Orc also carried a sounding horn. _Good to know_.

His gaze sweeping downward, Haldir considered the Warg that bore him. It was a fearsome thing. Brownish red in colour, it was large, larger than most. Its breath came out in steaming puffs, its bristling fur specked with the first snowflakes of the season.

Haldir's gaze flickered from the lone patrol to the camp then back again. His plan hadn't been as fruitful as he had hoped, and a part of him feared that he had learned as much as he would from his current vantage point.

Drawing upon centuries of experience, Haldir weighed his options, chose the one that seemed most likely to succeed. And so, his mouth thinning with determination, he looked around him one last time, and stole away into the night.

* * *

"He is too close." The words were but a whisper, her heart pounding in her chest. _He will be caught! The Orcs will see!_

Crouched where Haldir had left her, Annalyn held her breath and watched, wide-eyed, as he slid past yet another patrol. "He did it," she breathed and briefly hung her head. _That Orc did not see him_. Scarce believing her eyes, Annalyn laughed nervously, then bit her lip to stifle the sound.

While it should come as no surprise, Haldir was highly skilled in the furtive art of evasion. He was quick, as silent as a shadow. His elven cloak was practically indiscernible as well, so much so that she had nearly lost sight of him a few times this night, and wouldn't have seen him at all if she hadn't known where to look.

Presently, he was skirting around a thicket of shrubs, keeping very low to the ground. What he meant to do, Annalyn did not know. But she had faith in his abilities, and in his judgement. If anyone could get past those patrols, it was him.

Still, Annalyn worried and feared for Haldir, for he had gotten awfully close to the Orcs' encampment—much closer than he had first indicated—risking his life to gather knowledge and, hopefully, find Aldin.

The latter had her stomach in knots, the words " _Please be there_. _Please be well_." reverberating over and over in her mind. Desperate as she was to find him, Annalyn was not so delusional as to think that it would be easy. If it was even possible.

Just seeing this camp, and the forces gathered within… Thousands of them!

Annalyn shuddered to think on it, so she stopped, looking instead to the patrols, counting them and gauging their paths until they were etched in her memory. In truth, she and Haldir had been quite fortunate thus far. The Orcs seemed wholly oblivious to their presence. And though four patrols had passed directly in front of these woods, none had ventured close enough to actually see her.

Though very different in certain ways, her present situation reminded her of those nights she and her kin had spent hiding in the woods, watching with bated breath as Orcs and Wargs passed them by. Those very same creatures were undoubtedly down there, in that dreadful camp, including those who had killed her uncle.

Anger surged at the thought of them, a hatred so strong she could almost taste it.

Out of a need to rein in those emotions, Annalyn swallowed thickly, and closed her eyes for a fleeting moment. Centering herself, she tried to empty her thoughts. She listened.

In contrast to the awful racket of camp, the forest behind her was deathly quiet. A soft glacial wind danced between the trees, lightly stirring the snow as it fell to the ground. Hopefully, it would stop snowing soon, for it wouldn't do to leave visible tracks out here.

Her thoughts returning to her companion, Annalyn swept a gaze over the landscape, but could not see him. _Where has he gone?_ Frowning in concern, she scrutinized the area to no avail.

 _He knows what he is doing_ , Annalyn reminded herself. _He will turn up_. But as night deepened even more, her disquiet turned to genuine worry.

Snow was now gathering on the ground, and still there was no sign of Haldir. A gust of cold air arose, stirring her hair and chilling her face. The wind was picking up, it seemed.

Wait…

Another gust swept by, from the west this time. _When did the wind turn?_

Before she had a change to think, let alone move, a hair-raising voice echoed from somewhere nearby, sparking off a deep sense of alarm.

"What's that smell?" it said.

 _Curses!_ With her attention centered on finding Haldir, Annalyn had failed to notice the foot patrols who had wandered awfully close to her present location. Two of them. _Annalyn, you fool! You should have paid heed to the wind. You should have moved._

The Orcs sniffed the air, their narrowed eyes scanning the length of the woods. "We have company," one said, while the other grinned in murderous delight.

_Curses, curses, curses!_

Her blood rushing in her veins, Annalyn frantically glanced left then right. _What should I do?_

She couldn't stay here, obviously. Careful not to make a sound, Annalyn backed away from the tree. But the Orcs were still sniffing the air. If she tried to creep away, they would surely follow her scent—not to mention her tracks—and catch up. If they sounded the alarm…

Annalyn closed her eyes for an instant, tried not to panic. She held her breath. _Oh please do not be wrong in this_ …

… _Run!_

She ran.

* * *

The lone Warg-rider had gone up the hill—a furlong south of Annalyn—and was now prowling the upper-most edge of the escarpment, climbing over rocks and winding amongst trees, its searching eyes skimming the area.

But the Orc wasn't alone.

Little did it know, Haldir had been trailing in its wake for a little while now, sneaking in silence with a singular purpose in mind. He was taking a risk, he knew, but saw no alternative. He had gotten as close as possible to that vile encampment, had lingered, and watched, and listened, but had yet to discover their plans.

The Lord and the Lady of the Wood had placed great trust in him. He would not fail them. He would not fail his people, his beloved Lothlórien.

Still, even as he stalked the rider, following it westward over the crest, then down into darker and denser woods, doubt gnawed at the back of his mind. While he was still within reasonable distance of Annalyn, Haldir could no longer see her hiding spot.

Conflict churned in his being.

While the soldier in him felt compelled to accomplish his appointed task, Haldir was not wholly comfortable with leaving Annalyn alone, beyond his line of sight. _She is clever and capable, and she is well concealed_ , he thought but failed to completely reassure himself.

 _See it done, then get back to her_.

Intent on doing just that, Haldir reached for a stone, picked it up, and threw it, a triumphant smirk curving his mouth when it landed just beyond the Warg-rider, immediately netting its attention.

As the Warg took one step then another, a low growl escaping its jaw, the Orc on its back tilted its hideous head in a way that said, " _What do we have here?_ "

Mindful to keep downwind of them, Haldir used the distraction to cut a swift line through the shadows.

 _I have you now_ , he mused. And the wretched thing didn't even know it.

With his target in sight, Haldir bent his bow—the string creaking in the relative stillness, louder than he liked—and watched the Warg and rider slow then turn around. The Orc looked genuinely perplexed, still not clued in to the fact that it had been duped.

A breath, a blink, and Haldir cocked his head.

He loosed his arrow.

* * *

Annalyn was running, scrambling and stumbling as she fled across the darkened forest.

The Orcs had seen her. They were in full pursuit, the clang of their boots getting closer and closer despite her efforts to evade them.

She was out of breath, her sides hurting with exertion. Her endurance was flagging. It would buckle soon. Her luck had run out, it seemed. Even the forest appeared to mock her, the ground a treacherous betrayer that rose and fell, almost tripping her with its carpet of exposed roots.

Regaining her footing, Annalyn grimaced, ran and ran. No direction. No plan. _Fool!_ , she thought, but wanted to yell instead. Haldir had given her one task. One! But she had fumbled, had let her guard down.

As the creatures continued to gain on her, Annalyn cursed herself yet again, then braved a glance over her shoulder. They were frightfully close, with vicious grins splitting their faces. One of them called out to her. Foul, taunting words. And then it growled, a guttural and disgusting sound. She recoiled even as she ran for her life.

In many ways, it was like that dreadful night all over again, a horrible echo of the chase that had almost claimed her life—the same chase that had sundered her from her kin. The memory forever carved in her mind, she remembered the overwhelming sense of defeat when her horse had fled, leaving her alone and swordless.

Such was not the case now, however. Her blade was at her hip, her hand wrapped about the hilt, ready to pull it free. Why she had waited, Annalyn had no idea. Mayhap she had hoped to widen the gap and face them when she felt ready. But her time was running out. _Fight now or be slain_ , she thought as terror coiled in her gut.

Her nostrils flared. She chose.

Her sword rang free.

* * *

The Warg had fallen with a yelp, throwing its rider forward.

Caught in its death-throes, an arrow lodged in its side, the beast quaked and seized, while the Orc rolled and regained its feet. Startled and furious, the creature gripped its scimitar with one hand, the other reaching for the horn which hung about its neck.

But it was already too late.

"Do not think to sound that horn," Haldir warned in a low but lethal tone. He had already closed the distance. His blade had replaced his bow, the elegant steel hovering dangerously close to the creature's jugular. "If you so much as move, I will sever your head. _Gladly_. Now drop your weapon."

The Orc snarled, but ultimately did as it was told. The scimitar clattered to the ground. Haldir kicked it away.

"Tell me," he demanded sternly, eyes narrowing. "What goes here?"

The Orc laughed at that, its shoulders bobbing up and down. When Haldir increased the pressure on his blade, his nostrils flaring with impatience and loathing, the creature's mocking subsided. But defiance remained.

"And why should I tell you?" The Orc spat. " _Elf_."

His patience nearing its limit, Haldir clenched his jaw, countered, "You will tell me, if you value your wretched life."

Again, that laugh. _Orcs_. How he despised them.

"You cannot stop it," the creature spoke at length. "No one can."

"Stop what?" Haldir took a step, and then another, rounding the Orc while his blade ghosted along its miserable neck. "An attack," he stated, guessing as much. "Where? Speak!"

But the Orc did not answer, and was not going to. Haldir could see it in its cruel and derisive gaze, in the slight curl of its mouth.

Before he could do aught else, however, a sound reached his ears from a distance, faint but unmistakable, making his heart drop in his chest.

The clattering of swords.

 _Annalyn_ …


	17. Blood and Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I know this is my third update since Friday, but since this part of the story has a lot of cliffhangers, I thought I would try to shorten the gaps between postings so you wouldn't have to wait so long. For those who are subscribed to my story, I wish to apologize for flooding your email inboxes with all these notifications.

**CHAPTER XVII**

**BLOOD AND SNOW**

The Orcs were laughing, taunting her and testing her skills with quick lunges and feints.

Annalyn was outnumbered two to one, without shield or armour. A clear disadvantage. _She_ knew it. The Orcs knew it, too. This was mere sport for them, an opportunity to mock and taunt her, to amuse themselves. That they hadn't bothered to sound the alarm told her just how much of a threat they believed her to be.

 _Let it be your downfall_ , Annalyn thought bitterly, breathing hard.

The Orcs took turns engaging her. As the three of them circled around a small clearing, somewhere in the heart of the forest, stirring snow and leaves with their boots, Annalyn swung her sword laterally, cried out with the effort.

The point swept oh so close to the Orc's exposed throat, but failed to graze skin.

"Got some bite in her after all." The other creature laughed, showing a set of filthy, rotten teeth.

The clashing of steel echoed throughout the tiny clearing, fading until blades crashed together once more. How long they fought? Annalyn could not say. It felt like a long time, though.

As Annalyn strained for advantage, she locked her blade with the creature's scimitar. Somewhere to her left, the other Orc was spitting vile words at her.

Intent on staying alive, Annalyn paid it no heed. Instead, she slid her sword against her opponent's, seeking then finding the leverage needed to dislodge the offensive blade.

"Let me have a turn." The other Orc suddenly lunged forward, its weapon almost hitting its mark.

 _Gracious me!_ she almost yelled, somehow deflecting the blow. _That was too close!_

And so it went. As the snow continued to fall, blades collided again and again… and again. _This is not how it ends_ , Annalyn kept telling herself, breathing through gritted teeth. She was not going to die out here, killed like a dog by these vilest of creatures.

Even as she fought, channeling her remaining strength into simply staying alive, her thoughts flickered to both Haldir and Aldin. _I am sorry_. A thrust and a parry. _I failed_.

As her strength waned even more, her opponent unwittingly gave her the reprieve she had been hoping for. Betrayed by over-confidence, the Orc momentarily dropped its guard. Seizing the advantage, Annalyn swung her blade in a downward stroke, finding the vulnerable area between its neck and shoulder. The attack caught the Orc by surprise, the blow strong enough to cleave through skin and flesh, hitting bone.

Both hands trembling around the hilt of her sword, Annalyn watched with a feral gaze as the Orc fell to its knees. Its mouth hung open. A horrible gurgling sound rose in its throat.

Then deafening silence.

But as the creature crumbled to the ground, a hissing growl reached her ears, and she looked up in time to see the remaining Orc's furious advance.

Eyes filled with rage, the creature charged, its weapon high and at the ready.

She blinked.

* * *

Haldir's heart had dropped like a lead weight, fear seizing him as he'd caught the one sound he hadn't wanted to hear: the unmistakable clattering of swords, from somewhere out in the forest.

At hearing it, he had looked up for the briefest of instants. A mere blink. But that was all it took for the Orc to seize its chance, striking Haldir square in the face with the heel of its hand. The jarring force sent him staggering backward. For a dizzying moment, pinpricks of light filled his vision. He had to blink them away.

Inhaling sharply, he straightened in time to see the Orc reaching for his previously discarded weapon.

Haldir was fuming, consumed with a level of rage he had rarely felt before. His blade now in a two-handed grip, he clenched his jaw, and scowled at the Orc. _Oh, you will sorely regret this_.

Before the creature could attack, Haldir sprung forth, his curved blade glinting as it sliced through the air before colliding with the much cruder weapon. The Orc deflected the blow, yet Haldir managed to snag the leather cord which held the sounding horn. With a yank of his sword, the leather gave way, and he sent it flying into the brush.

Determined to bring an end to it, and quickly, Haldir doubled his efforts until the Orc was straining and trembling. Blades locked, Haldir looked the Orc straight in the eye. "Time to die, filth!"

And with that, he spun on his feet, and swung. The blade sang. A dull thud followed.

The Orc was dead, its severed head rolling to a stop before its body had even hit the ground.

Without a moment to lose, Haldir turned at once, and ran deeper into the forest, his ears guiding his way.

He could still hear it. The fighting continued, albeit at a slightly slower pace. _Hold on_. His silent words directed at Annalyn, Haldir ran as fast as his feet would carry him.

While the Orcs were known to fight amongst themselves, he felt certain that this wasn't the case. Without being able to explain it, he just _knew_. Annalyn had been discovered. She was in trouble.

His heart pounding wildly in his chest, Haldir followed the sounds of battle, heard them grow louder and louder.

He was getting close, but had yet to see anything.

When the ground suddenly dropped before his feet, the angle like to slow him down, he reached for a nearby branch, maintained his momentum by swinging forward and breaching the gap.

And so he ran, hurrying between the trees, mustering all the speed he could.

The sounds seemed really close now. But then, to his horror, the clangs ceased, yielding to complete and absolute silence.

"No…" Having lost his only clue to her location, Haldir slowed his pace and searched the forest with stricken eyes. His breath swirled and fogged as he listened. Nothing. As despair mounted, he called Annalyn's name, but his throat felt so tight, the word was scarce more than a breath.

Desperate to find her, Haldir came to a halt, turning this way and that. But then another sound reached his ears, a dull thump, faint but traceable.

He was moving again, his body filled with dread and apprehension.

A set of footprints suddenly drew his gaze, then another one. And one more. Eyes trained on the ground, he followed the trail.

And then he was there.


	18. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> because you are all so awesome, and because I feel bad for all these cliffhangers, here's another chapter. Starting next week, my summer schedule is gonna be more hectic. So with less free time, I will probably have to return to weekly updates like I did for earlier chapters. In the meantime, I will try to move the story along as much as I can.
> 
> Kindest regards,
> 
> CygnusRift

**CHAPTER XVIII**

**AFTERMATH**

"There you are."

Annalyn's words were breathless and low, delivered as a small, tired smile came to grace her mouth. "I was wondering where you were."

Her sword and clothing were stained with black blood, her braid in a disheveled state. But she was _alive_ , standing on her own two feet by the foul creatures that she had slain.

His heart drumming in his chest, Haldir ignored the Orcs' lifeless bodies, his eyes never leaving hers as he marched over to where she stood. He halted. His hand found her arm. As she stared up into his eyes, Haldir briefly wondered what she might see in his. Would she see his relief? The admiration he currently felt for her?

"I did it." A huff of laughter echoed then died out. Annalyn seemed… astounded. But then, her gaze falling to Haldir's blade, her smile faded and her demeanour changed to one of alarm. "There is blood on your sword." No sooner had she said this, than Annalyn looked him up and down, searching for injuries. Seeing none, she breathed a laugh. "You're alright." The relief in her voice was palpable and startling, though not nearly as surprising as what she did next.

Before he knew it, Annalyn had closed the gap, and brought her arms tight around his neck. "Haldir..."

Stunned into inaction, he merely stood there. It had been long since anyone had embraced him in such a manner. In the face of all that he felt, Haldir hesitated, then surprised himself by returning her embrace and actually lifting her off the ground.

So light. Safe.

As she trembled in his arms, he loosed a breath and only tightened his hold.

They stayed like so for several heartbeats, while snowflakes continued their descent, depositing shimmering flecks of white on their hair and clothing.

 _I should never have left_ , Haldir chided himself, eyes squeezed shut as he thought about how he might have lost her tonight. But he hadn't lost her. Annalyn was here, alive and unharmed, by her own merits. He set her down, just as Annalyn whispered, "I am sorry."

Perplexed, he frowned and drew back in question.

"I did not see them," she explained. "I should have kept a better watch on—"

"Nay," he cut her off somewhat sternly, but not overly so. "The fault lies not with you. I should not have left. I insisted and…" It was no easy thing to admit. "Truth of the matter is, we should have been spying on that camp together as opposed to separately."

While the trees groaned around them, a hint of mirth gradually emerged on Annalyn's wearied features.

"Look at us," she said, causing him to smile, if only a little.

The lightness remained for a moment or two, but vanished when something suddenly occurred to him. "Are you hurt?" he asked, a look of concern asserting itself as he stepped back to assess her condition.

Blinking, Annalyn sheathed her sword, then looked at her hands, each of her arms. "Let me see. Naught but a cut or two I think." Indeed, the fabric of her sleeve had been torn just above her elbow, the edges stained with red blood. Her blood.

Brows furrowed, Haldir reached for her arm, inspected the wound.

"It is nothing serious," she assured him even as she winced.

"That may be so, but the cut should be cleaned all the same."

His heart-rate slowing to a more relaxed speed, Haldir watched her lower her arm, her gaze settling on the Orcs' lifeless forms.

"Aside from hunting, I never killed anything before tonight." Although her words could have indicated remorse, Haldir saw nothing of the sort in her eyes.

"They deserved to die," she said flatly. He agreed.

"You did well," he told her, and meant it.

As a winter wind swept into the small clearing, Haldir looked to the east, his heart growing heavier with each passing moment. The encampment was out there, somewhere beyond those trees. With all that had occurred tonight, Annalyn had yet to ask about Aldin, had yet to know that he had seen no indication that her cousin was, or had ever been, in that camp.

 _She needs to know_. He knew this. Therefore, he turned to face her.

In all his years serving with the Galadhrim, Haldir had seen many of his brethren fall in battle, the task of delivering the news oft falling to him. It was the one thing he had never gotten used to. _And I never should_.

Eyes on Annalyn, he readied himself for the pain he was about to inflict, the hope he was about to snuff out.

"What?" she asked nervously, sensing his mood.

His heart hurting for her, Haldir opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, a shout sounded in the distance.

"The Orcs," he realised, glancing out with alarm. "They must have heard."

Turning to her, he saw the blood drain from her face. For an anxious moment, Annalyn simply looked to the forest, her feet rooted on the spot.

"We cannot linger," he told her. When she failed to move, Haldir grasped her hand, took a step backward. "Annalyn, we must go."

Her eyes found his. She was frightened, understandably so.

"Come," he said, and saw her nod.

They fled.


	19. By Your Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another one. Hope you like it. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this story. It means a lot. 
> 
> Friendly reminder: This story is rated [M] for battles and eventual love scenes.

**CHAPTER XIX**

**BY YOUR SIDE**

"Did we lose them?"

Annalyn's breathless query came as they hastened through the woods, her feet kicking up leaves and snow as she ran. Her blood rushing with the pounding of her heart, she glanced over her shoulder, but failed to see their pursuers. It was night still, too dark to see very far.

"Do not look back!" Haldir told her in a lowered voice, never slowing in his pace. "Just run!"

He was holding her hand still, leading her with keen eyes and even better reflexes through an increasingly dense forest.

" _Should anything happen_ ," he had told her earlier in the night. " _This is where we run, south and west, until we reach the Anduin_."

And so they were.

Yet, with every passing moment, Annalyn's heart sank a little deeper. They were fleeing, _leaving_. It hurt to leave.

Ever since her uncle had been laid to rest, tracking the Orcs had been her sole focus, the means through which she had hoped to find Aldin. Alas…

Even now, she did not know if he had been there or not. There just hadn't been enough time.

When Haldir skirted past another tree, Annalyn followed and ducked to avoid one of its branches. Her legs were on fire, her sides hurting from exertion. But slowing was not an option at this point, not until they evaded the Orcs— _if_ they evaded the Orcs.

For a time, their escape seemed rather hopeful, the distant shouts of their pursuers having faded somewhat behind them. But their good fortune was short-lived, for the forest suddenly opened before them, revealing an obstacle she had not anticipated nor considered.

Her boots skidding to a harrowing stop, Annalyn found herself at the edge of a drop. Though not quite vertical, the rocky escarpment was rather steep and jagged, and leveled only slightly before disappearing into a wall of fir-trees further down below.

"Is there another way around?" she asked with alarm, trying to catch her breath. Around them, the snow had picked up considerably, and a thickening layer now covered most of the ground.

Peering down, Haldir scrutinized the area. He, too, was breathing hard. "Nay," he finally declared, eyes on the rocks that protruded from the snow. "We cannot turn back."

Thus, with no other recourse, the two shared a brief look, nodding in mutual agreement, before making their way down with as much haste as they could muster.

Gifted with the graceful balance of Elves, Haldir could move rather easily along the slope. Sadly, such was not the case for Annalyn. Near the halfway point, her boots lost purchase, and she found herself sliding none too gracefully down a section of rock, earning several scrapes in the process.

Haldir was at her side in a heartbeat.

"I am well," she assured him, even as she inspected the angry scrape on her hand. _Wonderful_ … When Annalyn went to gain her feet, her body protested. It seemed her backside and hip had taken a beating, too. Hardly had she risen when a worrying sound drew her attention, making her blood run cold. Heavy boots, she realised, from somewhere above them.

"They are not far behind," Haldir confirmed in a quiet but even tone. Of course, he would have heard them before she did. "We must leave. Now."

He would hear no argument from her.

While their progress had been impeded, Haldir and Annalyn managed to gain the relative cover of the trees before the Orcs reached the slope—but barely.

Their feet now on steadier ground, they fled, ran and ran for what seemed like the longest time. Still the Orcs followed them, their shouts growing louder as they narrowed the gap.

A short time later, as youthful trees yielded to old growth, Annalyn threw a look over her shoulder, and almost wished she hadn't.

Torches. At least three of them. They were close. The Orcs had gained a lot of ground. Too much ground. There seemed little hope in escaping now.

"Annalyn!" No sooner had Haldir spoken than he grabbed her shoulder and shoved. Before she could blink, Annalyn felt a soft gust of air as something rushed past her face, almost grazing skin.

An arrow.

Her heart pounding in her chest, Annalyn remained where Haldir had pushed her, behind an old, weathered tree. Stunned but grateful to be alive, she turned her gaze on Haldir, saw the sudden change in him. "Stay there." His mouth thinned in anger, Haldir immediately whirled around and started towards the approaching threat. The intensity of his gaze was startling to behold, his eyes wilder than she had ever seen them.

As he turned toward the threat, Annalyn rose on her knees, and regained her feet. Then, wanting, _needing_ to see, she peered out from behind the tree, and watched as Haldir pressed forward.

His hand rising swiftly, he grasped an arrow from his quiver, and promptly bent his bow.

 _Sweet Mearas_ …

Being an avid hunter, Annalyn knew how to wield a bow. But not like this. In the space of a few heartbeats, Haldir nocked one arrow after the other. Two of the Orcs fell right then and there, their startled cries echoing in the forest around them. A third one fell not five feet away from him.

When three more rushed forward, Haldir switched to his sword with fluid ease, and charged.

While she had never doubted his skill as a warrior, Annalyn had never seen him in actual battle before. It was… something to see.

His footwork was incredibly graceful and swift, his blade slicing the air in intricate patterns. The Orcs never stood a chance.

When it was over, he looked in her direction—as if to make certain she was well—and then he was moving again, going from corpse to corpse to retrieve the arrows he had loosed.

As he bent to grab the last of his arrows, Haldir froze. His features hidden by his hair, he kept staring at the Orc.

Unable to decipher his expression, Annalyn frowned in puzzlement, and took a step forward. Before she could ask what was wrong, something netted his attention.

Haldir looked up at once, gazed out at the woods.

She did the same, but saw nothing. All she could hear was the wind.

"What is it?" she asked once he had risen and was making his way over with clear urgency in his steps.

His eyes were grave, his next words even more so. "They have sent riders."

Despite having slain two patrols earlier in the night, Annalyn would have been lying if she had said she wasn't afraid. Orcs were dangerous enough on their own. But riders…

Wargs were incredibly swift. Vicious creatures. She would know, having been chased by one once.

"Annalyn," Haldir all but hissed her name, his hand motioning for her to follow as he stole into the night.

To be honest, she had little left to give at this point, the taxing nature of the chase having leeched much of her remaining strength. Seeking to catch her breath, Annalyn hung her head for a moment.

 _You are from Rohan_ , she reminded herself, the realm of shieldmaidens and the proud and valiant Riders of the Mark. The Eorlingas. _You can do this yet_.

A gust of cold air fanned her face as she raised her chin, summoned her courage and spun on her heel to follow Haldir.

They pushed onward, but hadn't gotten very far when Annalyn discerned the first of many howls.

"This way!" Haldir called her attention when she was looking warily behind her left shoulder.

Her gaze shooting ahead, Annalyn saw that they were nearing a shallow stream that had begun to freeze along the very edges. Before they reached the gurgling flow, Haldir whirled around. His hands grasped her shoulders. "I need you to do something." He surveyed the forest as he spoke, the set of his jaw conveying just how worried he was.

"Go," he said unexpectedly, elven eyes locking on to hers. "Follow this stream. It leads to the Anduin. I will hold off the riders."

It took a full heartbeat before Annalyn was able to grasp his meaning. "You want me to leave you here?" She blinked. "What, no!"

But Haldir was not listening. "Any moment now, this place will be swarming with riders. We cannot outrun them." He gave a slight squeeze to her shoulders, his voice lowering a notch when he said, "I have fought them before, Annalyn. Many times. I shall not be far behind."

"I know what riders can do!" It was a lashing retort. Anger had surged in her being. "This is folly, Haldir!" Experienced warrior or no, he was but one man—Elf—and could very well be outmatched this time around.

Annalyn shook her head. Tears stood in her eyes. Before she could form another reply, Haldir cut her off.

"They will not follow. I will see to it." He moved away from her then, eyes trained on the forest as he readied his bow.

"You stubborn, honourable fool," Annalyn whispered miserably. Had he any idea what he was asking?

Leaving… She had made that mistake once, albeit in a slightly different situation, when she had sundered herself from her kin, thinking it was their best chance. She had been wrong, had paid dearly for it.

"No," she stated at last, and met his bewildered gaze.

"They are nearly here!" he shouted. "Go!" He was breathing hard. For the first time since they'd met, Haldir seemed genuinely angry with her. There was disbelief in his eyes, and something else, desperate and wild. It mattered not.

Resolute, Annalyn drew her sword, and readied her stance, her back to him. The chorus of Wargs had grown louder, and seemed to come from various directions. The riders were going to circle around, trapping them.

"It is my choice." Her tone was harsh, the words fracturing a little. "I am _not_ leaving you."

What Haldir made of that, she did not know. Their time had run out. The Wargs were already here.

Her heart in her throat, Annalyn watched as the riders formed a moving ring of shadows around them. Numbering eight in all, they did not attack just yet, but merely prowled. The Wargs were growling, showing their teeth. Even without the moon, their eyes fairly glowed in the night, their irises reflecting what little light there was.

"Spying were you?" One of the Orcs sneered in a deep but grating voice. His blade rang free. "You shall see what we do with spies."

Annalyn swallowed hard, shifted her stance.

It began.

The riders set heels to their Wargs, and converged on them. One immediately tumbled by her feet, an arrow protruding from its side. The rest continued forth. She had to turn sharply to avoid being struck down.

Things sort of blurred together after that. Wargs snapped and growled. Orcs swung their weapons. How she managed to parry in time, Annalyn had no idea. But she did.

While most of the riders were focused on Haldir, one seemed to have honed in on her. As it sought to cut her down, there was murderous delight in its eyes.

Barely had she deflected a blow when the rider brought the Warg around and charged yet again. Reflexively, Annalyn thrust her sword just as the Warg pounced, and somehow, by a sheer stroke of luck, the point of her blade found its mark at the back of its throat.

Scarce believing her eyes, Annalyn freed her sword. The Warg toppled over. The rider, on the other hand, regained its feet and immediately came at her.

It is strange what can pass in the twinkling of an eye, how a memory can surface, igniting a fire under one's feet. As she parried, Annalyn thought of her kin. The Orcs. _They_ had done this. They had stolen nearly everything from her. Anger and vengeance took over, driving her sword-hand, giving speed to her feet. She fought, furiously, passionately, with a depth of strength she hadn't known was there.

Eventually, her sword got past her opponent's guard, and she landed a blow to the side of its thigh. A furious growl echoed in the night. The Orc staggered back, allowing a fleeting look at Haldir.

There was a circle of bodies at his feet—Wargs and Orcs alike. Outnumbered as he was, he was fighting well. Very well. What's more, he was _goading_ them, intentionally seeking the Orcs' attention by hurling insults at them.

Feral gaze darting back to her opponent, Annalyn deflected a blow, and sought to gain leverage. Alas, the Orc bested her with a sharp twist of his scimitar. Her blade clattered to the ground somewhere. Before she could react, the creature hooked its boot behind her ankle and pulled, sweeping her legs out from under her.

Annalyn went down. Hard. Then the Orc was there, crouched on top of her with its blade poised to slit her throat. "Go ahead. Scream." Harsh laughter bubbled forth. And the reek…

Cold and dirty fingers pushed her face just then, making her look toward Haldir. He was fighting still, fending off three of the remaining riders, with his back to her. "As you can see, the Elf is somewhat occupied. He cannot help you."

The creature was now sniffing her cheek. "Such fair skin," it rasped as bile rose in her throat. She was going to be sick.

"I think I shall make ribbons with it."

Refusing to give up, Annalyn struck the Orc with the heel of her hand, while the other reached blindly for her sword. At first, her fingers found nothing but snow and leaves and twigs. But then, the side of her hand bumped into something: an object, slightly bigger than her fist.

Before the Orc realised her discovery, Annalyn closed her fingers around the object, and swung, crying out as she did.

The rock smashed the side of its head with a sickening crunch. She heard it, felt the creature go slack. It was already dead before it crumbled at her side.

Disgusted and out of breath, Annalyn scrabbled to get to her feet, then sought her sword.

Turning, she saw that Haldir had dispatched another rider, leaving only two. As he parried, narrowly avoiding a Warg's vicious bite, his eyes briefly connected with hers. Relief seemed to flash in his gaze, but was eclipsed when he spun on a lateral stroke. Another Warg fell.

Annalyn was already moving, driven by the need to help in any way she could. But when he noted her approach, Haldir shot her a glance, a silent plea for her to stay where she was.

Gripped with indecision, Annalyn hesitated, took another step, then stopped. The last thing she wanted was to get in the way and lessen their chances. But staying back while he fought for them both seemed ludicrous. _Stubborn Elf!_ she wanted to cry.

Though not as winded as one might expect, Haldir was being pressed hard. Breathing through gritted teeth, he parried to avoid the last Warg, his snow-dampened hair whipping around as he spun to slay the filthy beast.

Now only two Orcs remained. Forced to fight without their Wargs, they pressed their attacks with vengeful intensity, flanking Haldir on either side.

 _Enough of this_ , Annalyn thought with gut-twisting worry. Spurred by an overwhelming need to join in the fight, she was hastening over when something snagged her boot, nearly tripping her as it gripped tightly and held on.

A wounded Orc cackled by her feet, black blood sputtering between its pointed teeth. "Joining the fray?" Nasty fingers held to her ankle. Then, before she knew it, the Orc swung its sword-hand with the clear intention of severing her leg.

Annalyn blocked with her sword, and metal clashed on metal. As the Orc growled in rage, she immediately brought her blade around and, with a battle cry, cleaved the creature right in the face.

Her thoughts returning Haldir, Annalyn looked up at once, panting. His back was pressed to a tree. Much to her horror, he had yet to dispatch the two remaining Orcs. When one of them managed to get past his guard, Haldir saw the coming blow, made to deflect it. But too late.

His face contorting in pain, Haldir glanced toward his arm, and the red stain that was already blooming just below his shoulder. As Annalyn willed her feet to move, he gathered himself, and countered, running the Orc clean through.

For an anxious moment, the blade seemed to catch. To free it, Haldir had to push the dying creature with the heel of his foot, the effort costing him precious moments.

Though no longer than a heartbeat, the remaining Orc saw the opening and seized it. Positioned between Haldir and Annalyn, the creature readied its scimitar, holding it above its head in a two-handed grip. He was going to strike Haldir in the back. " _No!_ " Annalyn cried even as she ran in to help.

The scimitar fell on a downstroke.

A cry of pain pierced the night.

And then silence.

Annalyn was trembling, her eyes wide with shock. On a quivering breath, she looked to Haldir, saw the same expression in his eyes.

A terrible gurgling sound reached her ears just then, and she glanced in time to see the Orc fall to its knees. Her sword, which she had driven between the creature's shoulder blades, slipped from her grip.

How she had stopped the Orc in time was beyond her. But she had.

Save for the gash on his arm, Haldir appeared relatively unscathed. Breathing hard, he beheld her as the Orc sputtered, fell forward and breathed no more.

It was ended.


	20. The End of the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to thank my readers, my reviewers, those who have clicked kudos or are subscribed to the story. Just the fact that you took the time out of your busy lives to read this ongoing fanfic has meant the world to me. You guys are the best. With my new work schedule, I'm thinking that the next update should be next weekend. We'll see how it goes. ;-)

**CHAPTER XX**

**THE END OF THE ROAD**

Blood was seeping between Haldir's fingers, his hand clamped tightly over the gash on his arm.

With the battle now over, Annalyn closed the remaining distance to him, her heart pounding against the confines of her chest. "Show me. Is it deep?"

"I do not believe so."

But with his tunic in the way, and the fact that it was yet dark, Annalyn had a difficult time assessing the wound herself.

Maintaining pressure, Haldir raised his arm so as to test his range of motion. As he moved, the dark stain on his sleeve broadened beneath his fingers, making her wince.

"Are you certain? The blood appears to say otherwise."

"Once I bind it, it will be fine."

Annalyn was not entirely convinced. Instead of voicing this, however, she stared at him, for his words were now coming back to her.

" _Go. Follow this stream. It leads to the Anduin. I will hold off the riders_ … _They are nearly here! Go!_ " The memory flashed in rapid sequence, reminding her of just how hurt she had been at the time. She still was.

His idea to send her away while he fought for them both…

Haldir must have noted the change in her. At his frown, she took a step back, then another. When he said her name, asking if aught was wrong, Annalyn whirled away altogether, for a list was now forming in her head. _Nonsensical. Inconsiderate._ She gritted her teeth. _Men!_ Or in this case, an Elf who happened to be male. The more Annalyn thought about it, the more she felt her ire rise, until finally, without so much as a glance, she yanked her blade from the dead creature's back, the one that had nearly claimed Haldir's life—it would have, had it not been for her.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"Forget it."

"Annalyn—"

"I am not speaking to you." Her words severed the night, as bitter as the chill wind that was now blowing through the naked branches.

"For what reason?" Haldir's voice was controlled, but she could tell; he, too, was growing displeased.

But Annalyn ignored him. Truly, how could he not know? With brusque motions, she wiped the blood from her sword. The blade slid into its sheath with an audible _whish_ and _snap_.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that Haldir was watching her still. Hand nursing his wound, he waited even as his patience ran thin. When it ran out altogether, Annalyn heard his drawn-out breath, the kind one heaves when anger sets in. And then he was moving, shaking his head as he went to retrieve his arrows.

Annalyn should have been glad of it—he deserved her silence—but in the end she couldn't help herself; the words came tumbling out. "I truly believed we were in this together. But what you said back there, ' _Go?_ '" A resentful scoff rose in her throat.

Haldir froze mid-step, but only stared. His face was unreadable, his tone grim and uncompromising when, at the last, he said, "This is not the time. It is dark still. When their riders fail to return, it is likely they will send more. We must go."

A deflection. _Why am I not surprised?_

Nevertheless, with dawn still an hour or two away, Annalyn reckoned he might be right. Thus, setting her pain and anger aside, she spun on her heel and started walking.

"I would not go that way."

Annoyed beyond belief, Annalyn halted in confusion, for earlier in the night Haldir had said that they should make for the Anduin. But now he was pointing east, away from the great river.

Too tired and much too irritated to press for an explanation, she gave up with a clipped, "Fine," and started marching eastward, her boots crunching the snow as she went.

"You should be running, not walking," Haldir stated as he brushed past her shoulder.

If looks could kill he would have been on the ground by now, for Annalyn had been running all night, and during that time she had fought in not one, but two battles. Haldir might not realise it, but she was spent, drained even beyond her limits. Even now, she feared her legs might give out.

But be that as it may, Annalyn bit her tongue. It might have been anger, it might have been pride, but she managed to quicken her pace somewhat.

After what seemed like ages, Haldir stopped at the edge of a bluff, somewhere in the middle of the forest. "I suppose this is far enough."

"I am sorry, far enough? Far enough for what?" Panting, Annalyn braced her hands on her knees. Ah, but her lungs were burning.

"Look behind you. Your tracks."

"What of them?" She turned to look.

Haldir came to stand by her shoulder. Though he was trying to contain it, aggravation rolled off of him in waves. Good.

"Tell me," he began, "if you were an Orc, what would these tracks tell you?"

Wearied by these riddles, Annalyn frowned, then relented on a shrug. "That we fled east. But Haldir, what does—"

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Now what of my tracks?"

She swept a gaze over the snow, looked and looked. _Huh…_ Her mouth hanging slack, Annalyn had to snap it closed. "There are none."

How was that possible? Then the answer came to her. He was an Elf.

"So what now?" Annalyn raised a brow instead of rolling her eyes. "We change directions and you… what, carry me?" She had meant it as a sardonic jest, but when Haldir said nothing, she realised that was, in fact, his plan. "You cannot be serious."

The muscles of his jaw flexed, then came a challenge. "Should you have a better idea, by all means, enlighten me."

Annalyn held his stare for a tense moment. As her mind drew a blank, however, she gave up and chose to go along. Part of it was weariness, but mostly—having had her fill of battle—she just wanted to get out of there and evade the Orcs.

But as snowflakes landed on their hair and clothing, two or three catching on his eyelashes, Annalyn made no move toward Haldir. Instead, she removed her cloak, then drew out her sword.

"What are you doing?" 

In lieu of answering, she made a small nick in the fabric, ripped a long sliver from the bottom, then donned the garment again. At the question in his eyes, she explained, "There seems little point in hiding our tracks if you bleed all over the forest."

Despite how upset she still was, Annalyn took it upon herself to wrap the fabric over his sleeve. As her fingers worked to tie the tattered ends, she sensed his gaze on her.

"You should have told me of your intentions," he said. "I have bandages in my pack."

Annalyn paused mid-task. The arch of his brow said that she had ripped her cloak for nothing.

With a sharp tug, the knot was secure. "This should do for now. Let us go."

Making no reply, Haldir went to sweep her off the ground, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. "You should mind that arm."

He shot her a look, but held his patience in check. A moment later, Annalyn had climbed onto his back, and Haldir set out. Since Orcs could easily track their scent, he followed the wind, carrying her south for a while before veering west.

Somewhere in the distance, Annalyn thought she heard shouts and growls, and her pulse quickened. The Orcs were looking for them, in the direction where they had left her tracks. For a mercy, Haldir's little ruse had worked, and the creatures did not come their way. When the predawn sky lightened at last, Annalyn's fear lessened. Before long, even her anger began to fade. Oh, she was still hurt by what Haldir had done, what he had wanted her to do— _leaving him behind_ —but her weariness chipped away at that edge until, when day finally broke, only a dull ache remained.

* * *

"This might sting a little."

With a gentle hand, Haldir turned Annalyn's arm, exposing the cut she had sustained just above her elbow. As minor as it was, the wound could not be left to chance. An Orc's scimitar was a vile and dirty weapon. If one was careless, even a small nick could turn foul. Haldir had seen such a thing before, felt that her cut required somewhat more than the water they had poured over it.

Initially, Annalyn had wanted to use pine sap, and it might have worked—nature was clever that way, providing all that was needful when one knew where to look—but Haldir had come prepared. Reaching into his pack, he had produced a jar of salve, the kind the Elves used on the battlefield.

Annalyn flinched a little at his touch, but did not react otherwise.

She was staring at his arm still, concern writ clear upon her features. Earlier, when she had asked to examine the gash below his shoulder, Haldir had deflected the attention, insisting they tend to her wound first.

Annalyn had not been pleased. And when Haldir had tried to reason with her, pointing out that she had had that cut longer than he had, she had shot him one of those looks before asquiescing, albeit grudgingly.

It was a little after daybreak. Snow was no longer falling from the sky. With the risk of pursuit now behind them, the two were sitting on a flattened section of rock on the very edge of the stream. Because of their detour, they were actually not that far from where they had fought the riders.

The Orcs and the Wargs were dead now. From where they sat, Haldir and Annalyn could hear the enthusiastic cries of the carrion birds. It hadn't taken very long for the crows to locate their grizzly repast.

Thinking back to the battle, Haldir had to own that it could have gone very differently. The Orcs had been relentless, the Wargs vicious and swift. Had there been a few more, they might not have made it out of there at all.

" _You stubborn, honourable fool_." Annalyn's words still echoed in his mind. When he had asked her to flee without him, she had been so angry and bewildered. He should have known.

Annalyn was brave, defiant in the face of adversity. She was also stubborn. " _I am_ not _leaving you_ ," she had told him, and meant it.

Granted, he had been furious with her at the time. But now that they were sitting here, safe and relatively unscathed, Haldir could admit that he had erred. He admired her even, for Annalyn had saved his skin in the end, killing the Orc who had bested him.

"I was wrong," he began after a time. Fingers reaching for one final dab of salve, he resumed his task, not meeting her gaze just yet. "When those riders came, I was wrong in asking you to flee. Had it not been for you…" At length, Haldir looked to her. "What I mean to say is… thank you."

Annalyn was watching him, her expression revealing little.

"Apology accepted," she replied at last. "But do not do it again," she warned him, holding his gaze until he nodded in agreement and resumed his task.

When he had finished applying the salve, she made to pull down her sleeve. "Wait," he told her, reaching for his pack. A moment later, Haldir produced a small roll of clean fabric. Before he could dress her wound, Annalyn stopped him.

"You are hurt as well." Her brows were slightly furrowed, concern reasserting itself. "More so than I. Do not waste those bandages on me."

"There is enough for us both," he told her, and would hear no further argument. Indeed, the fabric was incredibly thin, woven in a way that ensured an abundant supply for the scout or sentinel who carried it. For her part, Annalyn seemed more resigned than annoyed. "Very well, but be quick about it," she said.

Barely had he dressed the wound when Annalyn shifted to face him. "Your turn. No arguing this time." With deft fingers, she untied the temporary bandage on his arm, and grimaced at the fresh surge of blood. Reaching for the end of his sleeve, Annalyn lifted the fabric with care, but pursed her lips when it wouldn't go past his elbow. "I do not suppose this will go any higher?"

Seeing that it wouldn't, she drew the sleeve back down. "May I?" Annalyn asked, her fingers hovering near the edge of his tunic as her eyes sought his permission.

Haldir assented with a nod, and once they had removed his quiver and sword-belt, he helped her to lift his tunic on one side. He felt the gash open and stretch as he moved.

"Forgive me." Mindful of his injury, she winced as they freed his arm from the sleeve. "I will be quick about it." Cool wind met bare skin, for the side of his torso was exposed as well.

With his wound finally revealed, Annalyn sucked in a breath. "Oh, Haldir." His name left her lips on a chiding whisper. She was shaking her head. "You should have let me look at this sooner."

When that scimitar had bitten into his arm, Haldir had felt it keenly, it was true. But it hadn't sliced as deeply as it could have. Rather, the blade had caught at an angle, filleting skin and flesh. It was painful, and somewhat unpleasant to behold. But the muscles were intact. He could still fight if need be.

Her mouth set in a line, Annalyn reached for the waterskin. "Would that I had a needle and thread."

"Over there, in my pack."

A brief search later, Annalyn found the items. When all was in readiness, she poured water over the gash. As displeased as she seemed, there was a quiet focus to her features, a gentleness that was inherently hers. It was a trait he had noticed very early on.

"This might hurt. It is long since I have done this." In one smooth motion, Annalyn pushed the needle through his skin and started on the first stitch. Haldir felt the sting of it, but did not flinch otherwise. His gaze flickering between her steady hand and her downcast features, he remembered the first time he had spied her through the trees, on the day she and her kin had wandered into the Golden Wood.

At the time, neither could have known what lay ahead, the dark and disheartening road their feet would tread together.

As she sewed the wound, Haldir considered his companion and the tragic events that had led her to this point. Such loss, he thought, such misfortune. _She does not even know_. Not all of it.

There was nothing for her here. Aldin was lost. Haldir had been fairly certain of that when he'd observed that wretched encampment last night. But afterward, when he had gone to retrieve an arrow from a dead Orc, and seen…

He had to tell her.

So focused was she that Annalyn failed to note the sombre look that had fallen over his features. With the gash now closed, she washed the blood from his skin, applied the salve, then wrapped the wound with a clean bandage. Once that was done, she assisted in donning his garment, before sitting back on her haunches to ponder her work. "How does that feel?"

Haldir tested the stitches by bending his elbow and slowly lifting his arm. "You did well."

Their wounds tended to, they proceeded to rinse their hands in the stream. Sitting side by side, each fell into silence. Drawing her knees up, Annalyn contemplated the water. When her head fell forward, her hand rising to massage her shoulder, Haldir sensed that the events of the night were finally catching up with her.

At length, she lifted her face but did not look to him. "Any thought on what we might do next?" Her voice blending with the peaceful rush of the stream, she continued, thinking aloud. "We could make another attempt tonight. Or wait a day or two. That might be more prudent."

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Annalyn went on, proposing they circle around, approaching from another side.

"Annalyn," Haldir finally said, gently cutting her off.

Staring hard at the water, he felt her eyes on him. "We cannot go back."

Silence fell like a shroud. As it covered them both, Haldir chose his words, then explained, "It would be folly to do so. There is nothing for us in that camp."

It was a long moment before Annalyn was able to respond. But then, "Aldin was not there."

Haldir clenched his jaw. "I looked and looked, alas… it was all for naught."

On a trembling breath, Annalyn lifted her grief-stricken gaze to the sky. As the news finally sank in, it became all too much for her, and she rose.

"There is more."

Annalyn stopped and looked to him as he, too, got to his feet. She waited. He had never seen her looking so defeated.

He continued, "Prior to hearing the riders, when I was retrieving my arrows from the Orcs I killed…" There was a heavy pause. His feet ferried him forward. "Annalyn," he started again. There was no easy way to say this. "One of them was wearing Aldin's baldric."

A part of him thought she would turn away, that her composure would fracture a little. But neither of those things came to pass. Instead, Annalyn blinked an extended blink, her voice infinitely low when she breathed, "Are you quite certain it was his?"

"I am certain."

At first, the baldric had caught his eye simply because it had been beautifully crafted—and Orcs were incapable of making beautiful things. But then, as he had looked upon it, he had recognized the leather-work.

There could be no doubt. It had belonged to Aldin. What's more, the strap had been stained with dry blood—dark red, not black. The filthy creature must have looted it after…

Annalyn was staring into nothing, her expression dull and vacant. As tears threatened to spill, she turned away from him, and made for a large tree that stood further away from them.

Knowing she would need time to absorb all of this, to acknowledge the loss and grieve, Haldir did not join her. Instead, he gathered his pack and waterskin, his bow. Once these were slung over his shoulder, he came to stand by the water's edge.

Beyond the bare branches, the sky had begun to clear. Every now and then, sunlight would pierce through openings in the clouds, casting beams of gold on the melting snow. Normally, Haldir would have said it was a fair day, but he could not appreciate it, not when Annalyn's world had just crumbled beneath her feet.

Standing near the foot of the tree, Annalyn did not weep, did not look to him, did not utter a word. It was as if she was merely existing. And perhaps she was. He let her be.

His mind adrift on "what ifs" and memories, Haldir absently watched the swift waters of the stream and thought of the time he and his brothers had guided her company across the woods of Lothlórien.

Throughout their years of travel, Annalyn and her kin had seen enough to know all was not well in Middle-earth. Their disquiet had been apparent—a feeling he had shared—but they had been hopeful as well. Content. Joyful.

At the time, they had not reckoned the cost of continuing north. And as he'd watched them leave on that rainy afternoon, Haldir hadn't either. _If I had_ …

He had warned them of potential dangers, yes. He had told them of the lingering threat of Orcs near the mines of Moria. But that was before the hordes came. Before he knew that war was brewing, its forces amassing in places such as the camp they had just found. There would be other encampments, other armies, he knew. He could feel it in his heart.

As he stood there, Haldir thought of all those who had died at the hands of evil over the years. Among those he had known, some had been near and dear to him. How many more would have to die, he wondered. And what would come of the world? Looking up, he took in the trees, then the sky beyond, lamenting the beautiful things and fair places that were already lost. To him, it seemed that everything was fading, becoming less than what they'd been aforetime.

There were so many unknowns, questions to which there were no answers. If evil continued to spread, what would become of Middle-earth? Would it wither away? If it did… _How will we bear it?_ he asked himself, thinking of the Elves who still dwelt this side of the great sea. Elves who, above all else, valued the beauty and goodness that was, that is, that could be. Immortal beings who were destined to linger in Arda forever and always, until the end of time itself.

And what of the Men who dwelt here, unable to leave these shores? What would become of them? As he pondered those questions, Haldir bent his gaze on Annalyn.

There was much toil ahead of her, the long journey home.

 _Home_ , Haldir thought somberly, pondering what it would mean for her. To turn around and make for Lothlórien—for Rohan—would be tantamount to letting go. Letting go of Aldin, of Feran, of the life she had known before the start of all this.

Sighing, Haldir looked to the south, toward the distant plains of the horse lords. He couldn't help but wonder what awaited her there. A home? Friends and kin who cared for her? Haldir certainly hoped so, but did not know for certain.

Even now, there was much he did not know about her life—a realisation that saddened him, for their paths would diverge before long. In a fortnight, a month from now, he could not be certain. But their respective journeys _would_ branch out.

It was inevitable.

"Where? Which one was it?" Annalyn's voice severed his musings. When he failed to grasp her meaning, she made her way over and looked to him with quiet desperation. "The Orc who wore Aldin's baldric."

Annalyn wished to go back? Alarmed by her plan, Haldir hoped to dissuade her. "Annalyn, I do not—"

"I will not leave it. I cannot bear the thought of that creature, that _thing_ wearing…" Her breath hitched, and she turned. "Remain here if you wish. I will find it."

Though it was against his liking, Haldir followed after her, and took the lead. When they had finally reached the place where he had skewered the Orc, he went to remove the baldric, but Annalyn grabbed his sleeve. "No," she stated firmly, her stare directed at the Orc. "I will do it."

Ceding to her wishes, Haldir remained where he was, and watched as Annalyn knelt by the creature. She hung her head for a moment, as if steeling herself, then started undoing the strap with increasing haste and fury. Once she had removed the baldric, and unsheathed Aldin's longsword, Haldir thought she might strike or kick the dead Orc. But as she stood over the creature, she angled the blade downward, and held it there. Given her grief, her anger, he expected a swift and wrathful blow—to cut off its head, or pierce its rotting heart—but she restrained herself in the end.

As a cloud moved before the sun, Haldir watched as Annalyn straightened, sheathed her cousin's sword and spun back around. With the baldric in her hand, she walked right by him, but did not meet his eyes.

"Let us go home." Four words, flat and dull, as if she was dead inside.


	21. Homeward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late and I should probably be sleeping, but apparently I'm addicted to writing this fic. As always, I wish to thank all who have been reading this story, those who have clicked kudos, and those who have subscribed. Last but not least, I wish to thank my lovely reviewers. You have made this experience all the more rewarding. Words cannot express how much I have valued your feedback.

**CHAPTER XXI**

**HOMEWARD**

The first night had been the longest.

When Annalyn and Haldir had fled the area where they had fought the Orcs—their march beginning late in the morning—they'd had little choice but to hide come nightfall.

The forest had thinned out, ceding to an open valley that stretched almost all the way to the Anduin. Even though the snow had melted by mid-afternoon—leaving no trace of Annalyn's footprints—to walk out in the open, in the dark, while riders patrolled the area, would have been incredibly unwise. Especially now that the Orcs knew they were out here.

Thus, to keep out of sight, Haldir had led her behind a cluster of moss-speckled rocks, where they had sat, huddled and small, in a tapering wedge where two boulders met. Pulling at his cloak, Haldir had draped the garment so it fell over her, covering them both. "It will shield us from their eyes."

Weighed down by grief and a bone-deep weariness, Annalyn had nodded in thanks, but had kept quiet otherwise, much like she'd had since they had begun the long journey back.

 _Back to whom?_ , she would wonder, ruefully, painfully. _To what?_

Life as she had known it, was over.

Her last remaining kin had been slain by Orcs. What's more, the whole of what had befallen them was not known to her, and never would be.

While her uncle's burial had provided a small measure of peace, Aldin's remains were still out there somewhere. _Forgive me_ , she would oft say to him. _Forgive me for leaving you out here_. _I tried_.

A short time later, when riders had spilled out into the night, their distant shouts echoing in the stillness, Annalyn had stiffened. Part of it had been fear. But mostly, she had felt sick. Sick at heart. Sick of Orcs and Wargs, of evil and viciousness. She had been weary, her spirit bent beneath the weight of her sorrow.

"We are safe," Haldir had said then, as if he had known her thoughts.

In truth, his quiet presence had been of great comfort to Annalyn, the only one to be found in those terrible days and nights. Not only that, but to have him by her side had been reassuring as well, especially when the riders had come into view, no more than half a furlong away.

Upon seeing them, Annalyn had shut her eyes and turned her face, partially concealing her features behind the elven cloak. Without realising, she had pressed her cheek against Haldir's collar-bone, her fist resting over his heart.

Unsure for a moment, she had considered easing away. But then, his arm had circled her frame, pulling her even closer. So close that his breath had feathered warmly on her forehead and scalp. "They will not see," he had promised, and spoken truly, for the creatures had not seen them.

Come morning—after Annalyn had slept a little—the two had risen from their hiding spot, stretching their stiff and aching limbs, before resuming their march once again. They proceeded in this fashion, walking by day, hiding by night, for the next few days.

During that time, riders had come out for two more nights, their shouts discernible but fainter than before. By the third night, it appeared the creatures had given up altogether. The fourth all but confirmed it.

Annalyn and Haldir had reached the Anduin by then, but since they were taking a more direct path to Lothlórien, they were further downriver than they had been previously, and the water was treacherous.

"The sooner we cross, the better it will be." Annalyn glanced up at the words, spoken by Haldir.

It was late in the afternoon, and they were nearing the lip of a waterfall, the rumble of which could be felt beneath their feet. Finding a suitable place to cross was proving more difficult than either of them had reckoned, making her wonder what would happen if they couldn't make it to the other side. "What if there are no crossings south of here?" she asked him.

"The guards of the eastern border keep a careful watch over this river. If we cannot cross, they will see us from afar and send boats," he explained. "I must warn you, this side of the river has grown perilous. More so than the western bank."

Slowing to a stop, he scrutinized the meandering river at the foot of the waterfall. From where she stood, Annalyn could see its long and shimmering course through the grey-green forest ahead.

"Fortunately, everything seems quiet at the moment," he continued, assessing the area. "Foes are nowhere to be seen." His words were reassuring. But then he glanced at her. "Still, we must remain on our guard. Evil lurks up ahead. The lands east of Lothlórien are waste." There was a hint of sadness in his voice, veiled but noticeable nonetheless.

Perhaps it was a trait common to all the Elves, but Haldir appeared to have a profound connection to the land around him. Sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking, Annalyn would catch him pondering the trees with what could only be described as an air of sorrow. It was subdued, barely discernible through his otherwise stoic exterior. Still, she perceived it.

The forests were changing. They had known that for some time now. But Haldir's awareness seemed to run deeper than hers, as though he could sense what the trees were thinking, what they were feeling.

There could be no doubt, the present state of the world weighed heavy on his mind. So did his appointed task. Haldir was dutiful, wholly devoted to his rulers, his people, and the fair woods he called home. It was clear he fretted for them all.

While they had not really discussed it, Annalyn oft wondered what the Elves would do once they learned that the Orcs were amassing. Later that evening, after making camp in a sheltered little dell by the river, she finally asked him.

"What will you do?" Annalyn started, hands working to unwrap Haldir's bandage. "When you reach Lothlórien, I mean."

It was a frigid night. To ward off the chill, they had used her uncle's tinderbox to kindle a small fire—their first since the start of their journey. It was a risk, they knew, but their camp was concealed amongst rocks and trees, and was not readily visible from far away.

After so long, it felt strange to sit in front of a fire like this, to feel actual warmth against her skin.

"We shall make ready for war, I suppose." Haldir sighed, his features bathed in firelight.

War. It was a distressing outcome. One that was seeming more and more likely.

Upon removing the bandage, Annalyn saw no puss, no redness, naught to indicate that the wound was turning foul. What's more, beneath the stitches, his skin was knitting much faster than she had anticipated. Clearly, Haldir possessed a remarkable ability to heal. "Your wound is mending well. Soon, you will have no need of those stitches. Does it hurt still?"

"Nay."

"Good," she said, then proceeded to wrap a fresh strip of linen around his arm, perhaps for the last time.

To give her better access to the wound, he had removed both his cloak and tunic this time around. Stealing glances at him as she worked, Annalyn had to own that Haldir was beautiful in body—achingly beautiful even. The muscles and sinews were defined in the firelight, the lines of his shoulder smooth and strong.

Entranced by the very sight of him, she soon found herself staring. But then, fearing he might notice, Annalyn directed her eyes to the work at hand, returning to their previous topic when she said, "It is quite sad, what has happened to the world."

A long moment went by. Haldir seemed lost in thought. "It is."

After she had finished, he donned his tunic before fastening his sword-belt, his cloak, and finally his quiver. Soon, they were sitting comfortably again, facing the fire which was burning low, the flames licking at the glowing and charred underbelly of the logs.

"Why? Who is at the root of all this?" Annalyn voiced her query as the fire popped softly, sending tiny sparks into the air.

Swallowing his morsel of _lembas_ , Haldir contemplated the flames. "It is a question that has plagued me for some time. Alas, I cannot be absolutely certain of the answer." At length, he wrapped the remainder of the bread, and draped his arm over his knee. "Perhaps we will know more once we reach Lothlórien. The Lord and the Lady are wise and know many things. They might have learned somewhat more since last I saw them."

Though she should have paid better heed to the tail-end of his answer, his use of the word "we" had captured her attention. This was the second time Haldir had spoken as though she would be accompanying him to Caras Galadhon. The first time he had done so—a day or two ago—Annalyn had been too weary and grief-stricken to immediately grasp his meaning. Now she had to ask. "You would lead me to your city?"

Was that even possible? Kind though they were, the Elves of Lothlórien were incredibly secretive and distrustful of outsiders. Even Haldir had been wary of her and her kin at first. It seemed like an eternity ago.

"I would." He meant it. Annalyn could see it in the look he gave her. Still, Haldir conceded, "Though I grant you, it might not be so simple. I may command the border guards of the north, but I do not make our laws, which we are all bound to follow."

"I understand."

"I shall seek the Lord and the Lady's approval upon our return, and will answer for you if need be. You need not worry about it now."

What the other sentinels would think of that, she did not know. Only time would tell.

"You have not eaten," Haldir remarked some time later, nudging his head toward her portion of _lembas_ , which sat untouched, upon the leaf he had unwrapped for her.

"Forgive me. Only… I was thinking about the last time I sat by a fire like this."

The memory stirred something in her. She even managed a small smile. But then, little by little, the lightness of her heart faded, supplanted by the sorrow that made residence there.

"We had made camp by a pine grove beneath the Misty Mountains, Aldin, my uncle, and I," she explained, twirling a small twig between her thumb and index finger. "We laughed. Shared stories." Annalyn hung her head then. "But then the Orcs came."

The way she felt reminded her of that terrible summer, ten years past, when the fever had swept through her village, taking many of her loved ones with it: her mother, her father, her aunt, friends, neighbours, people young and old.

It had taken a long time to return from that. Some of those wounds had never fully healed, and never would.

Her thoughts returning to her uncle and cousin, she shook her head. "I was not even there for them at the end." Anguished laughter rose in her throat, and when it died Annalyn had to shut her eyes to regain her composure. "I cannot stop wondering about that, about their final moments. Did they suffer long? Or was it a swift end?"

There was a heavy pause. Her eyes misted over.

"I do not know what's worse," she added, "Knowing or not knowing." Desperate for answers—any answer—Annalyn looked to Haldir, hoping he could offer insight.

He took a moment before replying, as if he was taking great care to choose his words. "It has been many long years since I first held a bow, since I vowed to protect my people and our home, fair Lothlórien." Haldir lowered his gaze then, and his eyes, just like his voice, were subdued. "During that time I have seen many of my brethren fall in battle. Lifelong friends. Kin."

Annalyn's heart clenched at his words, at seeing the set of his features as he relived some of those losses. Whoever he had lost, it was clear some had meant a great deal to Haldir. It made her wonder who they were, who they had been to him.

"Bearing witness to those deaths was never easy," Haldir said quietly. "But neither was losing those who perished while travelling or scouting abroad. Of these, there are some whose fates are unknown to me, and that is hard to bear as well."

Following this revelation, he considered her for a moment. When she leaned forward to cast a small branch in the fire, Haldir said her name, drawing her eyes back to his. "You cannot lay blame on yourself."

It was easier said than done, but she conceded that he might be right. It would take time, though. A long time.

In the ensuing silence, her eyes gravitated to the baldric that now rested against her pack. Despite having had ample time to do so, she could not yet bring herself to clean the blood from the leather strap. A brownish red in the light of day, Aldin's dried blood looked almost black in firelight.

There was a lump in her throat. A tear threatened to slip free. When it did, Annalyn quickly wiped it away, and rose. She had not wept until then, had not allowed herself to.

In the day, when they were busy marching, it was easier to rein in her emotions. But at night… Now… It was not so easy.

Aware that Haldir was watching her, Annalyn averted her gaze, and went to fetch more wood from the small pile they had gathered earlier.

Once she had fed the dying flames, Annalyn stoked the fire with a stick, before rising again. She looked around aimlessly, her mind racing to find something to do, anything to occupy her thoughts. Her chest heavy with long-contained grief, Annalyn realised the futility of her efforts.

Her composure was fracturing.

Not wanting him to see, she reached for the waterskin, and excused herself, knowing full well he would see through her pretense.

To his credit, Haldir said nothing. And when she left the circle of light, he respected her need to be alone, and remained where he was.

Wordlessly, Annalyn made her way to the water's edge, where she knelt to refill the waterskin. The water was deathly cold, and where her hands breached the surface, ripples radiated outward, distorting her miserable reflection.

She hurt. Ah, but she hurt. Setting the swollen waterskin aside, Annalyn lifted her gaze to the heavens, and finally yielded.

She wept. Quietly. Almost silently. For the first time since they had started for Lothlórien.

It was cathartic, and long-overdue. When all of her tears were spent, Annalyn lingered by the river, and just… stared.

She stared at the water, at the shimmering stars upon its undulating surface. At the evergreens that stood all around, and the midnight blue of the sky beyond. At length, a sound reached her ears, a dry snap, followed by a soft rustle from the vicinity of the campfire.

Looking over her shoulder, Annalyn saw that Haldir was working on something, his back to her. Curious, she rose, wiped her cheeks one last time, and went to him.

His left arm was laden with a thick bundle of green boughs. Glancing beyond him, she spied a fallen tree nearby, its trunk snapped near its base. Most likely, it had fractured during a storm. A fairly recent one at that, if the vibrant green of its needles was any indication.

"What's this?" Annalyn asked, even though she knew. A tiny smile played at the corner of her mouth, unseating some of the sadness she still bore.

Haldir was layering the boughs on a flat section of ground a short distance from the fire. Noting her approach, he finished his task, got to his feet. "It is far from welcoming," he explained quietly, gesturing with his hand. "But it is softer than the ground."

Haldir was concerned for her, she knew, had done this to bring a sense of comfort to this most trying of nights.

"It is welcoming enough," Annalyn admitted, thinking of the straw pallets unto which she and her kin had slept back on the Westfold.

As he made ready to take the watch, grabbing his bow to sling it over his shoulder, Annalyn walked over to him, catching his eyes as her palm found his shoulder. She meant to express her gratitude, to thank him for the thoughtful gesture, for giving her the space she needed, for talking to her and simply being here.

In the end, what she meant to do was very different from what she actually did.

Her smile fading, Annalyn placed her hands on either side of his face, and drew him down to bestow a simple kiss upon his cheek.

It lasted but a few heartbeats, but his proximity kindled something, a quiet stirring in her heart, warmth radiating like a candle in darkness. Annalyn had not expected such an awakening, but it filled her nonetheless, prompting her to do something she might not have done otherwise.

With a flutter in her belly, Annalyn pulled back, only to kiss him again, on the lips this time.

Haldir was completely still, his mouth soft against her own. His breath seemed to have fled. He was frozen, she realised.

Hands still framing his face, Annalyn quivered with conflicting emotions, feared she might have erred. Yet before she could sever the connection, his gentle hand found the small of her back, and his lips moved against hers, just enough to let her know that he had kissed her in return.

And then it was over.

Retreating slightly, Annalyn wanted to gaze upon his face, to look into his eyes and gauge his response that way. But her nerves failed her. She could not lift her eyes.

As the fire crackled nearby, Annalyn saw his hand through her lashes, watched it rise, oh so slowly, toward her cheek.

"Annalyn, I…" His words floated on a whisper, simply hung there.

If only she knew what he was thinking.

Gathering her courage, Annalyn covered his hand at her cheek, and finally sought his eyes. She wanted, needed to see.

Haldir beheld her with a soft but searching gaze, as though he was trying to divine her thoughts, to make sense of what had just occurred between them.

He would find no such answer, she knew. Not when she couldn't explain it herself. Perhaps the kiss had been born of a desire to feel anything other than grief and uncertainty. To find comfort and solace in the only true friend she had left in this world. Whatever the reason, she had kissed him. _I kissed Haldir_. The realisation hit her all of a sudden, and her thoughts began to spin.

Annalyn let go of his hand, and his touch fell away from her burning cheek. "It is late. I should sleep." She took a step back.

For his part, Haldir stayed where he was. When she could no longer endure his inquiring gaze, Annalyn whirled around. Still, he watched her. She sensed it as she made her cowardly retreat and continued to feel it as she sought her makeshift bed, where she settled on her side, facing the fire, with her cloak wrapped tightly around her frame.

Scarce believing her impulse, Annalyn closed her eyes, knowing full well that sleep would not come easy—if it came at all.

Silence had fallen, it lingered. And as night deepened, her panic slowly began to cede. Breathing a little easier, she finally dared a tentative glance in his direction.

Haldir had gone—not very far, she knew.

Pillowing her head on her arm, Annalyn began a silent vigil of the fire burning before her.

Embarrassment was now fully entrenched in her being, and regret hovered at the back of her thoughts. Of those two things, the latter was most confusing to her. Did she regret kissing him? Or did she regret that it had ended so soon?


	22. Falling Slowly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks go out to all my readers and reviewers, those who have clicked kudos or are subscribed to the story. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.
> 
> Before you read this chapter, I would like to apologize for how short it is. The next ones will be longer.

**CHAPTER XXII**

**FALLING SLOWLY**

It was silent up in the treetops, the night cold and still.

A gibbous moon hung in the sky, its pale light reflected upon Haldir's mirror-like blade. With slow, steady motions, he ran a polishing cloth over the curved steel, the repetitive movement helping to anchor some of his thoughts.

Earlier, after three silent passes around the periphery of their camp, he had sought the highest branch able to bear his weight, and settled upon it. Whether he had longed for seclusion or the tranquil beauty of starlight, Haldir could not say. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

His thoughts were tangled. So too, were the stirrings in his heart.

Annalyn had kissed him earlier in the night, at the close of a long and trying day. Judging by her reaction—the way she had struggled to meet his gaze afterward, and the haste with which she had sought her makeshift bed—the kiss had been spontaneous and instinctive, taking them both by surprise.

His heart and mind still reeling from it, Haldir laid Silverwind across his lap, and looked westward into the sky, to the Star of Eärendil, the most beloved of all the jewels in the heavens. In the past, this holiest of light had often served to ground him. Not tonight, though. His thoughts were in full flight. They kept circling around that kiss and the way it had unfolded.

It had started with a touch to his shoulder. A simple kiss to his cheek.

When Annalyn had withdrawn, Haldir had thought it was ended, that the kiss had been but a token of her gratitude, but then she had closed the distance once more, pressing her mouth to his, and lingering.

Rendered motionless, Haldir had blinked a few times, had felt his pulse quicken in time with hers—he knew for he had heard the delicate pounding of her heart, the sound similar to the hurried wingbeats of a bird.

From beginning to end, the kiss hadn't lasted very long. Nevertheless, before their lips had parted, something had stirred within him, causing him to close his eyes, and return the kiss she had quietly bestowed upon him.

Indeed, Haldir could not deny that he had grown incredibly fond of Annalyn. But with his thoughts bent on his appointed task—and on keeping her safe—he had not fully acknowledged just how close they had become.

He should have realised it. He should have recognized the ripening nature of the bond they had formed.

Tilting his head against the bole of the tree, Haldir recalled the nights he and Annalyn had spent hiding from the Orcs, the two of them huddled beneath his cloak. He also remembered the times he had held her hand, or the night he had lingered by her side, trying to keep her warm.

There were other times as well. Other things. Shared looks, attentive gestures, and the crushing embrace they had shared in the aftermath of her first victorious battle against two blood-thirsty Orcs. That night should have been a revelation in itself. Perhaps he had chosen not to see.

After fleeing the vicinity of that vile encampment, they had fought the Orcs side by side. But before that final wave of riders had ensnared them, Haldir had asked her to flee, to go on without him. She had outright refused. It had frightened him. More than he had ever thought possible.

While Annalyn had never asked him to be her protector, and never would, it was a role he seemed to have fallen into nonetheless—not because she was helpless, but because he could not bear the thought of anything befalling her.

To be sure, something had changed between them. That he hadn't foreseen it was quite unusual for Haldir. Normally it was not in his nature to fall inadvertently into a situation. Yet he seemed to have done so with her.

 _How did I not see it?_ he wondered, before the answer suddenly came to him. Haldir had done something he almost never did.

He had let his guard down.

He had allowed himself to get closer to a maid he should and could never be with. Regret settled in his being. He closed his eyes.

Haldir was immortal. He was Elf-kind. Annalyn was not. Therein lay the insurmountable difficulty. That, and he had set his heart aside long ago.

With growing sadness, Haldir bent his gaze on the circle of orange light below, on the slumbering form beside the low-burning fire. Given her own turmoil, sleep had evaded her for nearly half the night. But in the end, her weariness had taken hold, drawing her into much needed dreams.

Annalyn was now curled on her side, her breathing slow and even, her delicate features tinged with firelight.

 _She is so young_.

Men and women always were in his eyes. Even those who were withering away, with bent backs, frail limbs, and grey hair.

Though they were both part of this world, Elves and Men were destined for separate fates. It had always been so, and forever would be. _You would do well to remember this_ , he told himself.

Yet tonight, when Annalyn had kissed him, he had kissed her in turn.

What's more, he'd felt something.


	23. Shuttered Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was a pretty crummy week. Because of complications from a surgery I had last fall, I've been put on sick leave until my consultation with a surgeon next week. So to read all of your comments on the last chapter really cheered me up. I even read a few while I was between tests at the hospital. Words cannot express how amazing it's been to see the same names (and new ones) pop up in my comment feed. It means a lot.

**CHAPTER XXIII**

**SHUTTERED HEART**

_Annalyn sat in a mist-filled plain, a small fire burning by her feet. Save for the occasional spark and crackle, a thick and oppressive silence permeated the air._

_Disquieted, she tightened her cloak around her frame, her eyes narrowing at the movement she perceived in the distance. As the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, Annalyn peered beyond the distorted whirls of smoke, into the mist, until shapes gradually came into view. People. Cloaked figures. Four in all._

_Annalyn gained her feet. "Who goes there?" she called out, her fingers curling around the hilt of her sword._

_No one spoke. Instead, the figures kept coming closer, until one by one, they withdrew their hoods in a reveal so shocking, it knocked the air from her lungs. "You…" Her breath trembled. "I know your faces…"_

_Her mother. Her father. Aldin, and her uncle Feran._

_Slowing in their steps, her loved-ones halted and beheld her._

_Their wistful smiles were kind but sad. As they stood there, mouthing words she could not hear, other figures came forward, baring their faces as they slowly emerged from the gloom. Both of her grandfathers, her grandmothers, her aunt. A few neighbours. Two of her childhood friends. People she had known back on the Westfold._

_"_ _Dead," she said in a failing voice. "You all died."_

_The mist thinned out for a moment, revealing large, angular shadows. Houses, she realised, with thatched roofs. Home._

_Fearful yet entranced, Annalyn took a step forward. But no sooner had she done so than her loved-ones disappeared, swallowed by the mist once more. Although there was no wind, the fire near her feet guttered then went out altogether. Alone, she hesitated only long enough to summon her courage. With slow and steady steps, Annalyn left the smoking remnants behind. As more fog rolled in, she walked forth, looked all around, and called to her kin. To anyone who might be out there._

_Mist._

_Silence._

_Even the houses were gone._

_A dreadful chill seeped into her being, along with a profound and terrible sense of loneliness, one that bordered on despair._

_Seeing no one, she turned this way and that. But she wasn't alone, for a whisper reached her just then, faint and echoing, "Annalyn…"_

Her eyes flew open, her heart thundering with such force, she feared her chest would burst open. As her fingers clutched the front of her tunic, she came to full awakeness, and the images scurried at the back of her mind, leaving her with the feeling one gets after a troubling dream.

A raven's cries resounded into camp, the guttural croaks severing the predawn stillness.

In an attempt at getting her frantic heart to slow, Annalyn rolled onto her back, blinked a few times. _It was but a dream_ , she reminded herself. _A nightmare, nothing more_.

Hands rising to rub her forehead, Annalyn tried to make sense of it. The dream was vague and fading. Only fragments remained. As hazy as her recollections were, however, Annalyn was fairly certain she'd had the same dream before, shortly after fleeing the Orcs' encampment.

Loss and grief could do that, she supposed. And she'd certainly had her fair share of it.

Sorrow was her companion now. She would have to bear it, on this day and the next, and the one after that. For the rest of her life really, though the passage of time would likely lessen some of its weight.

Until then, she would have to keep going. Pushing her self-pity to the side, Annalyn rubbed the sleep from her face, and allowed her arms to fall on either side of her head. Through the branches, she could see that the sky was a cloudless gradient of dark blues and purples, with a thickening band of pink in the east. Day would break soon.

A soft crackle echoed in the stillness, drawing her eyes. The fire was still going, the last of the logs now crumbling as they burned. If the thick circle of ash was any indication, she guessed that Haldir had fed the flames while she had slept. Touched by the thought, Annalyn propped herself on her elbow and looked in vain for her companion.

Thinking he must have widened the periphery of his patrol, she sat up the rest of the way, but lingered by the fire. In truth, her thoughts were now fixed onto the previous night, on her emotional catharsis, and the unexpected moment that had ensued.

A part of her still couldn't believe she had kissed Haldir, on the lips no less. But she had, and for a breathless moment, he had kissed her, too.

 _Why? Why did I do such a thing?_ By the sudden heat in her cheeks, Annalyn knew she was blushing. "I should know better," she whispered, half-wanting to kick herself.

After all she had gone through this past year and a half, Annalyn had made a promise: no more weakness, no more entanglements, for her heart had learned a painful lesson, and she was done with complications.

And yet, even with her promise, newfound emotions were now warring within her being, filling her head with such turmoil, it was hard to know how to feel.

 _Haldir_ … Her features softened somewhat. Without realising, her fingertips had strayed to her bottom lip, where they now ghosted along a barely-there smile. It might have been foolish on her part, silly even, but the kiss was repeating in her mind. Even now, Annalyn recalled how his mouth had felt against her own, how his closeness had sparked a sudden yearning from deep within. She had not expected that. Nor did she expect the little flutters she was feeling now.

With an embarrassed shake of her head, Annalyn sighed and cursed her wayward musings. It had been a good while since she had allowed herself to harbour such thoughts, since her heart had felt anything close to this.

But what did she feel exactly? Had she kissed him as a means to escape her grief, or had she done so at the behest of her heart? Annalyn felt rather certain it was the former. But what if it was both?

 _It cannot be both. It should not be both_. But thinking the words did not necessarily make them true.

The sun broke over the horizon, spilling soft light into the surrounding forest. Her thoughts in a jumble, Annalyn reached for her satchel. After making certain that all of her things were safely tucked away, she swept her gaze all around their encampment, before gaining her feet and making for the woods.

_Where is he?_

"I am here." The words floated from above, making her look up.

Haldir was sitting high up in a tree, on a large tree-limb overlooking the camp. His fair hair and face were partially obscured by his hood, the grey of his cloak all but melting against the pale sky beyond.

"Were you up there all along?" Her startled query sounded more breathless than she liked.

In lieu of answering, Haldir grabbed his bow and made his way down. Her face tipped upward, Annalyn followed his progress until his feet met the ground, no more than an arm's length away from her. When he spun around to face her, and drew back his hood, their eyes held, but neither of them spoke.

Her heart stirring at the sight of him, Annalyn simply stood there, her eyes mapping his beautiful face—for Haldir was indeed very beautiful. _Mind your thoughts_ , she admonished herself, then opened her mouth to speak. But words eluded her at first. In the end, she settled for, "I thought you had gone, that you might have seen something."

"Nay," he stated simply. "I made several passes throughout the night, but all was quiet." His voice sounded different somehow, more formal—or was it aloof? Annalyn knew not what to make of it.

Silence asserted itself. What passed between them in those moments, Annalyn could not say. But as Haldir stood there, something flickered in his gaze. Regret, she thought, and… sadness?

Why would he be sad?

Before she could understand his demeanour, or ask him about it, Haldir lowered his head for a moment. When his eyes found hers again, she saw that he had shuttered his emotions, his features more guarded than she had ever seen them.

"We should make haste," Haldir declared, severing the moment by walking away. When he moved to extinguish the fire, Annalyn followed him with her eyes, her features falling a little in spite of herself.

"Lothlórien is still many leagues away," he was saying, his back to her as he poured water over the flames.

There could be no doubt, Haldir was avoiding her. Considering her emotions, how muddled they were, Annalyn should have been glad of it, relieved even—for she was not yet ready to speak of last night. She wasn't glad, though. Nor was she relieved.

 _Just what were you hoping for?_ she asked herself.

Hoping to mask her embarrassment, Annalyn schooled her features into a detached expression, slung her pack over her shoulder, and excused herself to get ready for the long march ahead.

Several paces later, upon reaching the river's edge, she glanced over her shoulder, and considered her companion from afar. Haldir was ill at ease, she could tell. And though his thoughts were unknown to her, the cause of his discomfiture was not difficult to guess. _Me…_


	24. Sundered Souls

**CHAPTER XXIV**

**SUNDERED SOULS**

It was nearing midday, and they were filing along the Anduin.

It was a silent march, the two of them keeping pace with one another, but at a slight distance. They were trying to proceed in much the same fashion as before, as though nothing had changed. Except everything _was_ different. A strange mood had settled between them. Everything seemed off-balance somehow. They had yet to speak of it. They had yet to speak at all.

Presently, Annalyn and Haldir were walking along a quiet stretch of forest. The ground was soft and level, covered in a blue-green carpet of clovers. The frost had stolen much of their vibrancy, Annalyn noted, but they had yet to wither completely.

The surrounding oak trees were old but strong, with airy spaces between them. Their large limbs stretched up and out. The branches arched overhead, their tips touching the ends of neighbouring trees, forming a natural roof through which they could see the sky. To their right, just visible beyond the trees, the Anduin eddied and flowed, too wide and too deep to cross.

At any other time, Annalyn might have appreciated the scenery. But as things now stood, she could only manage an impassive stare. Like the eddying current of the river, her thoughts kept circling back to earlier that morning, to Haldir and the sadness she had perceived in his eyes. It puzzled her still, as did his sudden retreat.

But then again, had she not done the same?

Last night, almost as soon as the kiss had ended, Annalyn had left him where he stood, her mind racing to make sense of her sudden impulse. As confused as she had been, however, the thought of actually distancing herself from him had never crossed her mind.

Whatever else he might be to her, Haldir was a treasured friend. The last thing she wanted was to ruin things between them. _Mayhap I already have_.

Hoping to lift some of the heaviness from her heart, she looked skyward for a moment, but the weight remained. Her gaze straying to the left and slightly ahead of her, she pondered her companion as he marched, and couldn't help the pang in her chest at seeing how detached he seemed.

To be sure, Haldir's countenance had changed, as if he had built a wall around himself. It confused and saddened her. But more than that, it hurt and made her wonder.

Unable to wrap her mind around any of it, Annalyn decided to clear her head by walking nearer to the river's edge. The sandy bank was mostly smooth. Tiny pebbles shifted beneath her boots.

By early-afternoon, the river had widened considerably. So much so that one might mistake it for a long lake. The wind blew freely here, but the open air was not enough to quell her jumbled thoughts. Growing weary of their continued silence, Annalyn pondered what to do. She wanted to speak to Haldir, to broach the subject they had avoided all day. But what would she say to him?

As she grappled with the answer, she had to ask herself, what if he was wrestling with the same confusion she was? What if he was sorting through his thoughts even now? What if, like her, he only needed time?

Not knowing how to feel, Annalyn swept a gaze on the passing scenery, noted that the river was narrowing again. An hour later, it was still tapering. Walking onward, her eyes gravitated to Haldir. At first, his gait and demeanour were unchanged, but then he came to a sudden stop, his stare directed at something up ahead.

Annalyn halted. "What is it?" she asked.

In liew of answering, Haldir cautioned silence by bringing a finger to his mouth.

Was someone, or something, lurking nearby? Alarmed, Annalyn followed his line of sight. It was rather far, but a dark line could be seen just over the water. A bridge? How strange. According to Haldir, there were no bridges over the Anduin.

"Psst!" Haldir's whisper netted her attention again. With a nudge of his head, he urged her to join him in the relative cover of the trees.

Setting the day's turmoil aside, Annalyn did as he asked. As the two stalked ahead to investigate, creeping from one oak tree to the next so as not to be seen, gentle banks gave way to a narrowing channel of rock through which the water churned and flowed.

Once they had found a discreet vantage point, Annalyn and Haldir crouched to survey the Anduin.

Pinched between tall sections of rock, the mighty river had gathered considerable strength, its waters loud and frightful. As for the line they had seen, it was not a bridge, but rather a lofty beech tree that had falled over the gap, spanning its width.

Annalyn glanced at Haldir. "What do you think. Could we use it to get across?"

He seemed unsure. "That tree was felled. We do not know by whom, or when it was cut."

"You think it might be Orcs?"

"We cannot rule it out."

Annalyn swallowed hard, and scanned the area. "I see nothing."

Haldir offered no reply. Instead, his keen elven eyes scanned their surroundings, his ears listening for any and all sounds that might be out of place.

Annalyn looked and listened, too. For what seemed like ages. Honestly, it was starting to get tedious. "There is no one out there."

"Do you see that cliff face?" Haldir pointed to a spot across the river, where a jagged wall of stone loomed over the current. Its surface was curved and uneven, with dark fissures here and there. "There is a large cleft near the top, partly hidden by those vines." With a subtle sweeping motion, he indicated what appeared to be a lip in the rock. "You see there? All along that face? A rock shelf leads directly to it."

Annalyn frowned in concern, but countered. "It is daylight. If there are Orcs in there, it is the perfect time to cross. If we hasten, we can hide or confuse our trail and be well away from here before nightfall."

When Haldir failed to move, she shifted to face him. "Was it not you who said that the eastern banks are more perilous than the western side? That the lands east of Lothlórien are waste?"

"I did. Just…" Haldir breathed through flaring nostrils. "Grant me a moment to think."

"Well, you can remain here if you wish." Annalyn ignored his widening gaze, and rose. "I am going to see."

Honestly, it felt good to be defiant, to expell the day's pent up emotions by doing what she wanted, regardless of what he thought. One might have said she was being reckless, but Annalyn did not agree.

Yes, Orcs unnerved and frightened her, but this tree could be a blessing. With any luck, it might even shave some time off of their journey. As for the potential dangers, if Orcs were indeed hiding nearby, the sun was much too bright for them at the moment.

"Wait." By the exasperated tone of his voice, she knew Haldir had relented. He would follow.

The closer they got to the river, the more Annalyn could feel its strength.

Unless her ears were cheating her, a waterfall lay somewhere beyond their line of sight—a suspicion that ultimately proved correct. What's more, the tree had fallen quite near to the drop. Once they had reached the beech tree, Haldir crouched beside it, his knuckles rapping against the trunk. "The bole appears solid," he told her. "Rot has yet to set in."

Now that she was standing next to it, Annalyn could not look away from the raging torrent. As eager as she was to cross, fear roiled in her gut. Her determination was stronger though. She had faced and lived through worse. She could do this. "We should do it, then. We should cross. You said it yourself, the Orcs are amassing for war. The sooner you reach Lothlórien, the better it will be, no?"

Haldir studied the opposing rockface for a moment. Then, with a grim look upon his face, he met her eyes, and concurred with a nod.

"Very well then," she said. Steeling herself for the crossing, Annalyn neared the tree, and was about to climb onto it when Haldir stopped her.

"Wait. I have rope."

Taking heart at that, she waited while he rummaged through his pack, producing a slender length of grey rope. After tying it to the sturdiest tree he could find, Haldir wrapped the other end around his hand, looping it over and over again, reminding her of the day she and her kin had crossed the Silverlode. Once the line was taut, he proceeded along the fallen tree, unfurling the rope as he went. Sure-footed or no, Annalyn fretted for Haldir, couldn't help it. If the tree shifted or if he somehow lost his footing—

 _He will make it across_ , she told herself, and he did.

Once he was standing on the other side, Annalyn went to take a step, but stopped when Haldir motioned for her to remain where she was.

 _What's he doing?_ They should have been hastening to leave here. Instead, Haldir proceeded along the rockface, hand on the hilt of his sword as he moved toward the cleft.

Fearful and anxious, Annalyn watched as he inched his way forward, his blade drawn and at the ready. Haldir was almost there. Only when he had peered around the bend, and deemed it safe, did she allow herself to breathe.

 _No Orcs. Good_.

Once he had retraced his steps, and was waiting for her on the other side, Annalyn squared her shoulders. _My turn_.

"There are branches on this side. Take heed when you step over them," Haldir called out as she stepped onto the fallen tree, her hand reaching for the rope which he had secured at shoulder level.

Swallowing a lump of fear, Annalyn ventured forth, doing her best to ignore the raging torrent below. The roaring soon envelopped her, the rumble discernible through the soles of her boots. A fine spray filled the air, dampening her hair and chilling her skin.

For the first few steps, Annalyn kept her eyes on the other side of the river. But then, even knowing it was unwise, she glanced down and immediately wished she hadn't. The foaming waters churned even as they fell over the rock face, toward the gaping maw of the pool below.

Hesitating, Annalyn drew a steadying breath, but kept on going. One step, another, then one more. Her balance wavered a little. She paused to right herself, tightening her grip on the rope.

Despite all that had happened today, and the remoteness that had settled between them, Annalyn was glad to see that Haldir was keeping a careful watch on her. For the first time since early that morning, he actually met her eyes.

The nod he gave was one of encouragement, but it also conveyed that he would join her if she asked. She wouldn't though. Not now. Annalyn wanted to do this. She _needed_ to do this. She resumed the crossing.

When her boots finally touched upon rock, Annalyn heaved an audible sigh of relief. Leaning forward with her hands on her knees, she sought to steady her racing pulse while Haldir went about untying the rope. A mere tug was all it took. As he coiled the length of it over his arm, Haldir started marching along the edge of the sunlit forest.

Her gaze trailing after him, Annalyn followed.

* * *

"Here." Haldir spoke quietly as he approached, making her look up.

His arms were laden with the firewood he had just gathered, his tall frame silhouetted by the dying light of the sun. Stooping to set his burden down, he looked beyond the glade in which they had made camp, and scanned the river flowing nearby.

"It would be prudent to refill the waterskin ere we depart," he advised, rising. Having followed the Anduin all day, they meant to leave it behind tomorrow, cutting a straight line toward Lothlórien. "The valley ahead is crossed by several streams," he continued, "But the one nearest to us lies a day's march away."

"How long until we reach the Golden Wood?" Annalyn inquired from where she knelt, by the small pile of kindling she had arranged. To be honest, it felt strange conversing with him thusly. Except for the crossing, this was the most he had spoken all day.

"Ten days," was his reply. "Nine if we make haste." Though he tried to conceal it, Annalyn saw the tension in his posture, the way he averted his gaze. Shifting uncomfortably, Haldir promptly excused himself, saying he was going to circle around one more time.

While tempted to stop him, she chose not to, at least for the time being.

Just a few hours ago, Annalyn had made a promise to herself. Unwilling to leave things as they were, she would speak to him. _Tonight_.

Reaching for her pack, her thoughts turned to what she might say to him. Alas, despite her best efforts, the words had not fully formed in her mind.

This day had been a veritable whirlwind. Annalyn couldn't remember the last time she had felt such a wide and confusing range of emotions. All throughout the afternoon, she had found herself constantly reassessing her own feelings, and the reasons behind her sudden desire to kiss him.

Grief and weariness had been part of it, she knew. As was gratitude. But she had begun to suspect a deeper truth, one that went beyond a simple desire for solace. Annalyn sensed it in her heart, in the way it quickened whenever he happened to glance in her direction. In the hurt and disappointment she felt whenever he turned away.

As a wayward lock of hair tickled the side of her face, Annalyn thought of their journey, and all they had been through. She and Haldir had tread a long and difficult road together. They were still walking. And somewhere along the way, without realising it, something had begun to change— _at least for my part_.

As far as self-discoveries went, it was most startling and unforeseen. Nevertheless, it changed nothing.

It was one kiss. Nothing more. So what if her feelings had changed a little? So what if Haldir appealed to her? With all that had happened over this past year and a half, Annalyn had already learned her lesson, had no intention of deepening her relationship—not with Haldir, not with anyone. And judging by the way he had walled himself in, her companion was not interested in pursuing her either.

Yet a strained distance now separated them. It pained her.

Annalyn looked up. Daylight was fading. She had a fire to light. Setting her musings aside, she fetched her uncle's tinderbox and kindled the flames. When they finally took root, spreading warmth across her face and outstretched palms, she glanced up and saw that Haldir had completed his patrol.

Instead of joining her, however, he busied himself by seeking a few more deadfalls. Having gathered more than enough to last the night, he then made for a nearby oak tree. Climbing onto one of the lower limbs, he settled upon it and began inspecting his arrows one at a time.

 _Now or never_. Her stomach in knots, Annalyn left the warmth of the fire, and approached the oak tree. When she grasped the lowermost branch, her boots scraping against the bark as she climbed, Haldir frowned in concern and began to rise.

"No, please. Stay. I am coming up." Annalyn told him, and saw his reluctant nod. He sat back down.

For good or for ill, she would make an end to these uncomfortable bouts of silence, even if she had to climb a tree to do so. Determined though she was, Annalyn was rather glad he had chosen one of the lower perches. It had been long since she had climbed thusly. And she had never much cared for heights.

Sensing his questioning gaze on her, Annalyn made her way up until she had reached the limb in question. As he made room for her, she lowered herself carefully, and sat next to him with her legs dangling toward the east. Facing the other way, his face tinged with the early evening light, Haldir looked sidelong at her, but yielded the conversation to her.

"Well then," she started simply, gently, for her aim was not to confront, but to understand. "Shall we speak of this? Or shall we keep to ourselves all the way to Lothlórien?"

Haldir made no reply, instead looked to the western horizon. It wasn't a dismissal, however. Rather, she sensed that he was merely struggling to choose his words.

Uncertain of how to proceed, Annalyn considered him for a moment. She had thought to begin by asking why he seemed so distant, instead she chose another route. "I see it you know, the sadness in your eyes."

At this, he frowned a little—not angrily, no, but as an emotional shield. Haldir might have been a mystery to her in many ways, but this she knew; discussing his feelings was not something that came naturally or easily to him.

She went on, "I only wish to understand—"

"We have grown too close, Annalyn," he stated suddenly, without looking at her. He let out a breath, and hung his head.

Now it was her turn to look away. As she sat there, trying to digest his words, Haldir spoke once more. "I had not intended…" The sentence trailed.

"What?" Annalyn prodded at length, for she truly wanted to know. Eyes returning to his profile, she asked again, her voice scarcely more than a breath. "What did you not intend?" _Kissing me in turn?_ _Becoming my friend?_ These additional questions burned on the tip of her tongue, but Annalyn could not bring herself to ask, fearing the answer—especially if it was the latter. For their friendship meant a great deal to her, more than he could possibly know.

Haldir seemed weary, more so than she had ever seen him. Straightening his back, he dragged a hand over his face. When he spoke, the words were so low, Annalyn only caught the end of it. "…so incredibly complicated."

At last, Haldir met her eyes, and she saw it again, that same sorrowful look. Her chest growing heavy, Annalyn saw his gaze fall to her mouth. For a moment she was reminded of the way he had looked in the aftermath of that kiss, when he had lingered in her proximity, his hand framing the side of her face. It had stirred her heart at the time. Now it only added to her confusion.

But then, it sparked a realisation. _He is conflicted_. Annalyn blinked, and in that instant, everything seemed to coalesce in her mind, changing her perception. _Of course_ …

Annalyn's heart clenched. She averted her gaze. In order to conceal what she was feeling, she summoned a faint smile, but her cheeks flushed anyway. "Why did you not say anything?"

When he frowned in confusion, she explained, "You should have told me that there is someone waiting for you back in Caras Galadhon." The thought had never even occurred to her before now. It made sense though. Haldir was quite beautiful after all. He was also brave and strong. Guarded and stubborn, yes, but kind. Surely, he would have caught someone's eye by now. Had she known, she never would have…

Puzzlement briefly crossed his face. When he grasped her meaning, Haldir tensed a little. "Nay," he said, somewhat discomfited—or was he embarrassed? "You misunderstand. There is no one." His voice lowered a notch. "At least, not for a long time."

The way he said it, the heaviness in the words…

Clearly there was a story there, and as she studied his profile, Annalyn couldn't help but wonder what it was. Unrequited love? An ill-fated love? A knot formed in her stomach. _Where is she now?_ _Did she pass?_ Or had their sundering come by less tragic circumstances? A mutual decision to part ways perhaps. Hoping it was the latter, Annalyn wondered what had become of her. A part of her wanted to ask, yet intuition warned her not to. Not now. Not yet.

Setting the mystery aside, she focused instead on the problem at hand. Haldir had been so incredibly distant today, closed off. Why?

As night gathered around them, Annalyn shifted sideways, until her back met the bole of the tree. Facing him, she then rested her head against the bark, and shrugged, saying, "Enlighten me then." Direct but delicate words. "You have barely spoken all day, barely even looked at me. There must be a reason."

A soft murmurous wind arose. As it swirled past, Annalyn ignored the sudden chill. She waited.

"There is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here was chapter 24. I know that things have been frustratingly awkward between Haldir and Annalyn, so I wish to thank you for hanging in there. Also, I know I'm bad for writing cliffhangers, but at least they are going to talk now ;-) The next part will be in Haldir POV.


	25. Of Elves and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I would like to thank my reviewers for their kind words and well wishes on the previous chapter. They truly brightened my sick-leave. Also, thanks to all who have been reading this story so far. It means a lot.

**CHAPTER XXV**

**OF ELVES AND MEN**

Annalyn was waiting.

She beheld him with a weary but expectant gaze, her eyebrows arched in a way that said she was not going anywhere. Not without some sort of answer.

Haldir expected nothing less, of course. In the short time he had known her, he had come to recognize the fiery determination beneath her otherwise gentle exterior. It was an admirable trait, one he had always liked in her, but seeing it now only heightened the tension he felt.

Truth be told, Haldir was not accustomed to this. Usually in command of his emotions, he felt oddly disjointed, his feelings scattered like leaves in the wind.

" _You have barely spoken all day, barely even looked at me_." Her words. He had not denied them. Haldir had kept his distance all throughout the day, thinking it was best. But now that he looked to her, really looked, all he saw was the hurt in her eyes.

 _I was never good at this_ , he thought, recalling another maid, in another time, and how he had hurt her, too.

Setting the sorrowful past aside, Haldir watched the woman sitting beside him, a mortal whom he had grown to care for. She was now facing him, one knee drawn, with her back resting against the tree. Their booted feet dangled high above the windswept grass below. Several paces from the oak tree, their small campfire guttered then righted itself.

"You are a daughter of Men, Annalyn." A poor explanation, he knew, but a start nonetheless.

"And you are an Elf," was her reply, delivered matter-of-factly as she waited for him to elaborate.

It was not so easy, however. To explain meant opening a door that he was trying very hard to keep shut. To be sure, Annalyn had roused something in him. Even now, he could feel his heart constricting in his chest, and secretly wished it wouldn't.

Hindsight being what it was, Haldir should have recognized his growing affection for her, and maintained an adequate distance. He hadn't though. That was the problem.

His thoughts carrying him back to a frigid night, not too long ago, he said, "You once told me that Elves were something of a myth to your people, that we have become mere characters in your stories."

The recollection earned him a smile, dim but genuine.

He continued, "Our two kindreds lead separate lives, it is true, with very few dealings in between. However, there is a reason why our people are sundered. A reason why you and I..." Though his sentence remained unfinished, Haldir hoped she would discern his regret, his desire to spare her.

For an Elf to love a mortal woman, it simply wasn't done.

True, there had been instances where Elf-maids had given their hearts to mortal men, but these were exceedingly rare. Furthermore, their stories were mostly tragic, with great purpose of doom behind their unions.

"While we are both Children of Ilúvatar," he went on to say, "our lives, our fates… They are vastly different and cannot be bridged."

"Bridged?"

For all that they had talked, and all he had shared of his people, the subject of his immortality had never surfaced. Haldir was not certain she knew, and she needed to know.

"If I have caused you pain this day, know that I neither intended nor wished it. In fact, I have wished you joy since we said our farewells that day, when you and your kin rode out of the Golden Wood."

Haldir had never forgotten the way she had smiled at him through the driving rain, how the warmth in her eyes had pierced through the miserable weather around them.

Her voice drew him back to the present. "I am not so easily wounded, Haldir." And yet there was sadness in her eyes.

Thinking he should get to the heart of the matter, Haldir dove in. "I am old, Annalyn. Very old."

Her face worked, trying to make sense of his words.

"I have seen nearly three thousand winters, three thousand summers."

Annalyn blinked at that.

"I will never sicken. I will never age." And unless he was slain, or somehow lost the will to live… "I will never die."

Met by stunned silence, Haldir gave her time to process the information. It was a moment before she could speak. "The stories… They said as much, only I never thought it to be true." Hazel eyes found blue. It was as if she was truly seeing him for the first time. "You're immortal."

A look of amazement was now etched upon her face. But then it began to fade, replaced by something else.

He nodded. _Do you see now?_ he wanted to ask, but saw there was no need. Annalyn understood. Haldir perceived it in her eyes, in the dispirited comprehension that was slowly dawning on her features.

"Three thousand years…" A huff of laughter echoed before dying out. Her stunned features turning serious, she swallowed hard. "You're older than Rohan."

Time stretched on. She was taking it all in, he realised, her eyes lost to the disappearing band of light over the horizon. At length, Annalyn turned to him and spoke. "I have laid no expectation upon you. Nor would I. When I kissed you, I was weary and mournful and immensely thankful that you were there. That is all it needs to be." Her mouth curved a little, but there was no joy in it. "All it should be."

As she sat there, quietly regarding him, Haldir did not know how to feel. On the one hand, he was relieved by her words and the understanding they conveyed. And yet…

Ignoring the pang in his chest, he gave a single nod, looked to the emerging stars, and said no more.


	26. A Turn in the Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> For those who have been asking, I am doing alright. Feeling better actually. My consult went well, though I am scheduled for another one at the end of the month. I'll know then if I need surgery or not.
> 
> As always, I would like to thank all who have been reading this story and all who have commented on the last part.

CHAPTER XXVI

A TURN IN THE WEATHER

Annalyn was waiting for the sun to rise.

Sitting in the grass by their dwindling fire, she had drawn her knees up, both arms looped around them.

Having slept for the first half of the night, she had awoken and taken up the watch so that Haldir could rest for a while. To be honest, she was rather glad, for he had not done so in many days, saying there was no need. But there was a need. Haldir might have appeared indefatigable at times, but even he needed to rest every now and again.

Eyes straying across the glade, Annalyn looked to him as he sat up in that tree—the same tree in which they had talked last night. Unlike then, his features were relaxed, mask-like, his elven eyes lost in a half-waking dream. _May it be kind_ , she silently said to him, and meant it.

A sad little smile on her mouth, Annalyn grabbed a fistful of grass, pulled, and released the brittle stalks in the wind. His words kept coming back to her. " _I am old, Annalyn. Very old_."

Three thousand years…

So the stories had been true, in part anyway.

Elves were immortal.

Her thoughts still spinning from that revelation, Annalyn found herself staring at him as he slept. On the one hand, he was still Haldir, her sedate and dutiful companion, her friend, yet she saw him differently now, couldn't help it.

The things he must have seen, and all he _would_ see, long after she had gone. It seemed impossible to fathom. It also made her think of her own life, and the temporal nature of it.

 _How insignificant I must seem to him_ , she caught herself thinking, but banished the notion just as soon. She was not insignificant to Haldir. Annalyn had seen evidence of that time and again, from his need to keep her safe, to the kind and caring gestures he had often bestowed upon her. And then there was that kiss.

When his lips had moved against hers, however briefly, it had meant something to him. For some reason she could not explain, Annalyn was certain of this, knew he wouldn't have returned the kiss otherwise.

Her chest tightening at the thought, she had to stop herself. It wouldn't do to dwell on such things. And yet she couldn't seem to stop. _More fool I_.

Last night, following Haldir's revelation, Annalyn had turned to him, saying, " _I have laid no expectation upon you_. _Nor would I_." Why would she, when she had vowed never to love in that way again? And so, holding to her crumbling promise, and recognizing his turmoil, Annalyn had even tried to set his mind at ease, speaking the words she had felt he needed to hear. " _When I kissed you, I was weary and mournful and immensely thankful that you were there_ … _That is all it needs to be. All it should be_."

Nevertheless, as needful as she had deemed these words to be, she had tasted the lie in them the moment they had left her mouth.

With a small shake of her head, Annalyn plucked a stick from the ground, and stoked the low-burning flames before her. _Have I lost my mind? Am I truly pining after him?_ An immortal Elf who had lived for thousands of years, a being of otherworldly grace and experience, far removed from what she was. _You're a fool, Annalyn_.

Haldir had made it clear last night. " _There is a reason why our people are sundered. A reason why you and I_ …" He had let the sentence trail, but she had perceived his meaning.

Budding feelings or not, there could never be anything between them.

Keeping vigil on their dying campfire, Annalyn tried to envision what it would be like, the union between a mortal woman and an immortal Elf. It would be wholly unfair to him, heartbreaking for them both. No, the rational thing to do was to quell this now. Therefore she would. _I have_.

Whatever had taken root between them would go no further. One, because she wouldn't let it. And two, because such a story could only end tragically, and she'd had enough of tragedies.

Her thoughts shifting to today's march, Annalyn wondered what would come of their talk, if it would allow them to regain what they'd had before. Hoping for such an outcome, she sat until the sky began to lighten. Ere long Haldir rose, and soon the two set out.

While it was difficult to gauge his mood, his posture did not seem as tense. As Annalyn followed him, matching his pace as best she could, Haldir even spoke to her a few times, pointing out interesting features on the landscape, or simply asking if she needed to rest.

Around midday, while the two were resting atop a wooded hill overlooking the valley, Haldir approached her, a small section of _lembas_ in his hand. When he offered it to her, Annalyn looked up from where she sat. "Is this the last of it?" she asked, suspecting it was.

Evading her question, he merely placed the pastry in her hand, closed her fingers around it. "Eat." Blue eyes briefly connecting with hers, Haldir turned to ponder the land ahead—an answer in itself, she supposed.

Though she felt like declining, preferring he keep the Waybread for himself, Annalyn relented, if only to maintain her strength. For the road was long and tiresome, and the last thing she wanted was to slow them down.

As for the remainder of their journey, they would simply have to improvise. Annalyn had done it before. They might hunt, unless Haldir was opposed to such a thing, for she had nothing to hunt with—though a snare or a trap could be easily improvised. They might also forage. It was late in the season, but there were yet mushrooms in this valley, along with plants with edible roots.

This being a cold and windy day, Annalyn pulled up her hood before tightening the stays at her throat. Once that was done, her eyes fell to her outstretched legs. _Look at me_. The journey had taken its toll. She was absolutely filthy.

Gaining her feet, Annalyn vigorously swept her palms along the front of her breeches—a pointless endeavour if ever there was one. Giving her cloak a cursory glance, it was clear the garment was faring just as poorly, if not more so.

Since there was nothing else for it, she came to stand by her companion. At her approach, Haldir spoke but kept looking out. "Orcs are still crossing the valley." Following his line of sight, she saw what appeared to be a wide swath of churned mud and flattened grass. The sight brought to mind those awful nights spent hiding from the hordes. It also reminded her of what lay ahead. The dark days of war.

"How long since they were here?" she asked, for Haldir usually had a better sense of these things, could even read tracks from afar.

"My best estimation is three days."

Granted, Annalyn would have preferred a higher number, but three was not bad. At any rate, it was better than two, or one.

Having lingered long enough, the pair ventured forth, maintaining an even pace beneath an increasingly cloudy sky. All told, it was a long march, with much toil. Her legs feeling heavier with every league, Annalyn focused on her purpose, which was to reach Lothlórien before continuing on her own in hopes of warning her people.

If the Orcs were marshalling an army and planning open war, what would stop them from crossing the Limlight and reaching Rohan? A few nights ago, Haldir had shared his suspicion that the creatures were gathering elsewhere as well, in strategic locations throughout Middle-earth. She was inclined to agree with his guess.

Hours passed. Her thoughts remained on the Westfold, on the people who resided there. Did they know? Or would they be caught unaware? For a moment, she saw a terrifying image of what could be. People roused from their sleep by blood-curdling screams. The smell of fire and blood assaulting them as they fled their homes. Too late to mount a proper defense. Too late for anything.

She could even see their faces as they lay dead, and those of the soldiers who might only arrive when there was no one left to save. From their saddles, they would look upon the carnage with sorrow and disbelief, the quiet stamping of hooves the only sound to break the silence.

 _Not if I can help it_.

Turning from such despairing thoughts, Annalyn looked to hope instead. The Rohirrim were brave and highly skilled. Given proper warning—and perhaps they already knew—they would best the Orcs, fighting with heart and valour until all the creatures were purged from their lands.

"I do not favour the look of those clouds." Haldir's observation pulled her to the here and now.

The weather had grown more ominous, it was true. The skies had darkened considerably, and a blustery wind was now sweeping in from the north.

Her cheeks numbed by the cold, Annalyn wrapped her stiff and freezing fingers in the wool of her cloak. By the looks of it, they were in for a substantial amount of rain—that or melting snow. Either way, it was going to be a miserable night.

With evening fast approaching, and not a refuge in sight, the two decided to continue along the valley. With the land being so exposed, finding shelter would prove difficult, if not impossible. Still, they looked as they marched onward, with their hoods pulled up, and their cloaks snapping in the wind.

Though things seemed rather bleak at first, fortune smiled upon them in the end. The unexpected boon came just as the rain began. Cresting over a hill, the two spotted a rocky outcrop in the distance below. Drawing nearer to it, Annalyn noticed that there were several more. Some stood high, others barely jutted from the ground. All had channels of grass in between.

There were trees here as well. Not very many but a few. Gnarled and weathered, they must have been very old.

Heartened by the discovery, Annalyn paused to catch her breath.

"Over here!" Haldir called her attention to him before disappearing between two of the larger formations. No, she soon realised, these were not separate outcrops, but a single formation that curved inward, forming a sheltered recess which was open to the sky.

"The wind," Annalyn remarked as they proceeded between the curving walls of limestone. "We can barely feel it." The grassy space was also larger than one might expect, its breadth comparable to that of a dwelling back on the Westfold.

Save for the pattering of rain, it was surprisingly quiet here. Pivoting on the grass, she scanned the surrounding stone for anything that might protect them from the frigid droplets. A small overhang, or a hollow in the rock. What she found was even better.

"Is that a cave?" Uplifted by this unexpected find, Annalyn gave a breathless laugh, and started for the opening.

"Wait," Haldir cautioned. "Caves are not always empty." Unsheathing his blade, he then crept toward the entrance, and peered into the gloom. "This will do." Motioning for her to join him, he went inside, and she followed.

The space was dry. Blessedly so. It was also more spacious than she had initially thought. Although it was hard to see, Annalyn could make out the smooth walls and floor. The slanted roof was actually high enough to stand. At its highest point, near the far side of the cave, she spied a faint wedge of dark grey light. "There is a cleft in the rock. Mayhap we can make a fire in here."

"Best to make haste, then. If we are to find wood that is yet dry enough."

And so they braved the elements once again, hastening to find suitable deadfalls before the rain rendered them useless. In order to reach the trees, they had to venture beyond the sheltering walls of the rock formation, into the howling wind and ever-increasing rain. By the time they doubled back, their arms burdened with potential firewood, their cloaks were so sodden, they barely flapped in the wind anymore.

Night had descended by then, and the cave was now fully dark. Crouched somewhere to Haldir's right, Annalyn tried in vain to see what he was doing. If the scraping sound was anything to go by, Haldir was using a knife of some sort to shave off narrow slivers of wood.

"You know in all my years of travel," she said. "I have never spent the night in a cave. It is black as pitch in here."

"This moonless night is dark indeed," Haldir replied, his voice echoing against the stone walls. "But soon there will be light."

"Such confidence," Annalyn couldn't help but tease. "But then you must be adept at kindling fires by now, with you being so old and all."

The scraping stopped. She smirked into the dark. It was long since she had jested thusly. Blind as she currently was, Annalyn suspected he might be smiling. When next he spoke, she felt certain that he was.

"I have had ample practice, it is true."

Glad for the returning ease between them, Annalyn wrapped her arms around herself, and waited. It was cold in the cave, and the rain had seeped into her clothes. Eager for warmth and light, she gauged his progress by listening. The sound of snapping branches told her it wouldn't be long now.

Thinking he would soon need her tinderbox, Annalyn left Haldir's side and carefully made her way to where she had left her satchel. It wasn't so dark near the mouth of the cave. Bending at the waist, she retrieved her tinderbox.

Guided by the rustling sound of branches, Annalyn blindly made her way to Haldir. Uncertain of his exact location, she was about to ask him where he was when she tripped on something. With a yelp, she tumbled forward and actually rolled over his crouched form. Her tinderbox clattered to the ground somewhere. Desperate to stop her fall, she reached out to grab something, anything.

" _Naeg!_ " Haldir hissed in surprise or pain. But then he caught her.

Wide-eyed and panting, Annalyn found herself on her back, her upper body supported by strong arms. Stunned into inaction, she blinked a few times. Haldir held her still.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, recalling his hissing cry. "Please tell me I did not injure your back."

His rapid breaths mingled with hers. "You did no such thing."

Reassured, Annalyn should have apologized anyway. She should have risen and thanked him for cushioning her fall. Instead, all she did was stare. Silhouetted by the cave entrance, Haldir's shadowed features were mere inches from her own, his hair curtaining both their faces.

As they lingered in this fashion, her initial shock morphed into something else, as though a spell had been cast upon her. Annalyn swallowed thickly. His arms were rock solid, his body warm against the surrounding cold. Good gracious he smelled nice—even now, after all this time. It was most unfair. It was also intoxicating. She breathed in deep. So very nice.

The moment hung there. Neither of them moved. Annalyn's left hand gripped his tunic, while the other was splayed over his heart. How it pounded, its rhythm a near perfect match to hers.

"Annalyn…" Haldir's breath caressed her face, his proximity making her ache. She couldn't see very well. Still, her gaze fell to where his mouth would be.

"Annalyn," he said again, in question this time.

"Yes?" she managed to breathe in turn.

There was a pause, and then, "Would you be so kind as to release my hair?"

Realising that she had grasped more than just his tunic, Annalyn winced in embarrassment, and loosened her hold. Thinking it was time to extricate herself from the inviting circle of his arms, she sat up, and Haldir withdrew.

"Sorry," she whispered and laughed.

"You need not be sorry. Are you hurt?"

She could have easily landed on her face, smashing her nose and teeth in the process, but she hadn't thanks to him. Knowing his eyesight was better than hers, Annalyn shook her head no.

Drawing her knees closer to her body, she sat alongside him as he resumed his task. At long last, a spark briefly flashed into being. A moment later, a tiny flame took hold.

When light and warmth finally flooded the cave, Annalyn looked to her companion, elation brightening her features. For his part, Haldir simply regarded her, much like he had in the past, before things became complicated. The corner of his mouth was pulled just so, a hint of warmth clearly visible as he held her gaze.

Though most welcome, the way he kept looking at her…

"What?" The word tumbled from her lips before she realised, but her smile remained.

Silence followed, just for a beat. "It has been many days since your eyes have shone thusly," he remarked at last. "It heartens me to see it."

Then, as if remembering the unspoken boundary between them, Haldir looked to the fire, added wood to it. But though he was still cautious around her, the wall he had built around himself was not so high anymore.

As the fire crackled softly, Annalyn watched him for a beat longer. For the first time in many days she was thankful. Thankful for the fire and shelter and the returning ease between them. Holding on to the latter, she kept stealing glances at Haldir. Firelight danced upon his enigmatic features, throwing his shadowy outline on the wall. It was pleasant, peaceful, a feeling she had sorely missed.

"You should rest," he said at length, regaining his feet. "I shall stand watch this night."

While she would have enjoyed the quiet comfort of his company, Annalyn understood why he could not remain by the fire with her, and his reasons were twofold. The first stemmed from the lingering threat of Orcs. The second reason, as compelling as the first, was the need to maintain an adequate distance. Both were well-founded. Both were necessary. Both made her sigh wistfully, albeit for different reasons.

As hurt and confused as she had been yesterday, Annalyn understood now, a great deal of it at least; from his sudden retreat, to his overall prudence whenever she was near, even the sadness in his eyes. What she had initially thought to be hurtful and dismissive behaviour had not been intended as such. For in his own unique way, Haldir was shielding them both from future hurt. His eyes had said as much last night.

As he came to stand by the entrance, head slightly bowed as he listened for anything that might be lurking beyond their hidden refuge, Annalyn decided to remove her still sodden cloak. Laying it on the cave floor, she then shifted her focus to her hair. Knowing it would never dry while gathered in a braid, she removed the leather tie that kept it bound, and gently loosened the strands.

It was while finger combing her tresses that Annalyn first became aware of it. Haldir's gaze. No sooner had she glanced up than he looked away of course. But she had seen and—wise or not—her heart responded.

It was imprudent and pointless and unjust. Yet here she was, secretly nurturing a growing affection for him, in defiance of her promise, even knowing it could never be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Naeg! – "Ouch!"


	27. Echoes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Initially, this was supposed to be two chapters, but to move things along, I decided to merge them together. Sorry if it's lengthy. 
> 
> Also, I just realised I haven't responded to your latest comments. I will do that very soon. Thank you so much for reading this story. Your kind reviews have meant the world to me.

CHAPTER XXVII

ECHOES OF THE PAST

She'd had the nightmare again. With the mist, her disappearing loved ones, and that awful chill. But this time, the dream had unfurled a bit more, and malevolent shapes had come into view. Warg riders, she had soon realised. Hundreds of them, circling all around like shadows in the mist. Her heart in her throat, Annalyn's dream-self had readied her sword, the point shaking in the air before her. But then, without warning, she had heard her name again, spoken in a drawn-out whisper that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, enveloping her as the dream came to an abrupt end.

Back in the waking world, she blinked at the stone ceiling, her rapid breaths echoing in the cave. Desperate to leave the nightmare behind, Annalyn swallowed against the tightness in her throat, and rose on her forearm. Cool air kissed her neck and back, the sensation heightened by the sweat that now dampened her tunic.

 _There are no Wargs_ , she told herself, and willed her heart to slow. _It was a dream, and now it is over_.

Night had come to an end. A pale grey light was filtering in from the mouth of the cave, where Haldir yet remained. Silent and steadfast, her watchful guardian stood facing the light, and seemed not to have moved at all.

Doubtless he knew of her nightmares. Her waking gasps were often loud enough. But for a mercy, he never said anything, never asked. Instead, he always let her be, and for that she was grateful.

Swallowing her embarrassment, Annalyn quietly donned her boots, then adjusted her sleep-rumpled clothes.

"The rain has not lessened," Haldir told her when she came to stand to his left. "Nor will it. Not on this day."

Looking past the unrelenting downpour, Annalyn saw a gathering layer of ice on the ground outside. _Freezing rain._ She could hear the wind as well, and it was howling.

"It might be perilous to travel in this," Haldir was saying.

This storm was not what either of them had hoped for. Still, he might be right. Marching in this, not knowing if they would find shelter along the way… _We might freeze to death._ _Well, I might_ , she amended before conceding. "We shall wait it out, then."

Rubbing the chill from her arms, Annalyn moved away from the blustery entrance. "I will venture a guess and say that you have been standing there all night." Not waiting for a reply, she indicated their small fire. "You should sit. Rest for a while."

But Haldir made no move to join her. "This storm might hinder us for a few days." He leaned out to get a better view of the clouds. "I can feel it; this rain will turn to snow before day's end." His bow was resting by his feet, but as he turned to face her, Haldir slung the weapon on his back. "We have exhausted our supply of _lembas_. If we are to maintain our strength, we will require sustenance."

"Wait, you are heading out?" Her brows shot upward. "In this?"

"The conditions are far from ideal," he allowed. "but there is small game in this valley. If fortune is upon us, perhaps I can skewer us a meal."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Before she could grab her cloak, Haldir looked to their campfire. "Lest we lose our sole method of cooking, someone needs to feed the flames."

"And that someone would be me."

A teasing glimmer crossed his features. "Only one of us has a bow."

A smirk tugged at her lips. It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes. "Very well. Go on your hunt. I will take care of things here. But Haldir… take heed out there."

"I will stay close by." As he exited the cave, pulling up his hood as he faded into the rain, Annalyn took stock of their wood pile. By the looks of it, Haldir had fetched a few more deadfalls during the night. But if this storm was as slow-moving as he feared, they would need a lot more.

 _Best get to it, then_. Setting herself to purpose, Annalyn fetched her cloak and headed out. The deadfalls would be wet, she knew. But if she took care, feeding the fire one piece at a time, the wood was bound to ignite sooner or later. At least, that was her hope.

Thus it was that Annalyn braved the rain, eyes scouring the ground beneath the few trees that had taken root here. But Haldir, it seemed, had gathered all the deadfalls. Refusing to abandon her search, Annalyn turned her attention to the trees. Although winter had robbed them of their leaves, they looked like healthy trees—old and weathered perhaps, but sturdy in their slumber. No, these wouldn't do.

Discouraged, Annalyn wove her way between the rock formations until she spied what looked to be a dead ash tree. Twisted and stunted, it was small for its species. From the many hollows in its trunk, it appeared the wood had rotted out. Annalyn chewed her lip. _This might work_.

Drawing nearer to it, she studied its lowermost limbs. Choosing one at random, Annalyn reached up, grasped the bough with both hands. It was tiresome, but using her body weight, Annalyn managed to snap two of the boughs. Should they need more, she figured Haldir could fetch the higher ones.

Hands on her hips, she considered her bounty. The sections were much too long. Dragging both pieces toward their refuge, Annalyn wondered how she might break them into more manageable sections. Spying a nearby boulder, an idea came to mind.

Since the wood was encased in ice, she started by swinging the boughs against the rock, shattering some of the ice in the process. This she repeated a few times. Her success, however, proved marginal. Since there was nothing else for it, Annalyn wiped the rain from her face, and proceeded with the second part of her plan.

Using the boulder to set the wood at an angle, she stepped onto one of the boughs in hopes that it would break. Alas, the wood only flexed at first. "Come on." It was freezing out here, and the rain was quickly seeping through her clothes. With a series of muttered curses, Annalyn brought her foot down, hard. This time, the tree-limb snapped in two.

Repeating the process with the second piece, Annalyn stood in triumph. Once she had hauled the narrow logs inside, laying them alongside the fire so they could dry, Annalyn pondered her wood pile, and realised something.

She had missed this. She and Haldir made camp every night, it was true. But this felt different. In a way, it reminded her of those times she and her kin had set up camp, staying in the same spot for days at a time while they gathered and prepared the plants their village needed.

Granted, her present situation differed greatly, and it wouldn't do to tarry too long. But it was long since Annalyn had felt like she had accomplished something. And though her meagre pile of wood didn't seem like much, fire could make all the difference out here. Fire was warmth. Fire was life. Adding a log to the flames, Annalyn had to own that there was power in that, in being able to look after yourself, in seizing control of a situation and doing what needed to be done.

 _Speaking of what needs to be done_ …

Haldir might have gone hunting, but game would be hard to come by in this weather. Wanting to increase their chances of finding a meal, Annalyn headed out once again. At first, her search yielded naught but frozen grass, but when she rounded a bend, her eyes fell upon a narrow section of ground that had escaped the downpour. There, amid the grass were mushrooms. _Oh please, let them be edible_.

Kneeling beside her find, Annalyn examined them with a critical eye. These were definitely bonnets. The questions was, were they the right kind? If these were lilac or rosy bonnets, eating them would be disastrous, for they were highly poisonous. But these, she thought, looked more like common bonnets. Plucking one from the ground, Annalyn held it up for closer inspection, and smiled. Definitely a common bonnet.

Heartened by the find, she gathered all the mushrooms she could find, inspecting each one—cap, stem, and gills—just to be sure.

Going back to happier times, Annalyn remembered how her uncle and cousin had favoured these mushrooms. Sending her thoughts to them, she looked skyward. _What I wouldn't give to see you again_.

Drenched from head to toe, Annalyn turned her attention to the valley. Although Haldir was likely nearby, it was hard to see in this weather. She headed back inside.

Morning waned. The rain, however, persisted. Sitting by the fire, her legs akimbo, Annalyn wondered how Haldir was faring out there.

As midday came and went, the idleness proved too much, and she ventured out again, her feet breaching the thin crust of ice blanketing the grass. Moving through the gap in the rock formation, she had to shield her eyes from the wind and rain. _Where is he?_ Annalyn rose on her toes, squinting and craning her neck in hopes of seeing Haldir. Alas, the downpour acted as a curtain, hiding much of the valley from her.

But then, "Annalyn!"

At the sound of his voice, a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. When she failed to spot his location, he called to her once more.

Following the sound, she saw a vague outline through the heavy rain. As Haldir slowly came into focus, she noted that he was carrying something. A game bird, she thought when he held it up. Her features brightened at once.

"And that is not all I found!" He turned then, as though he was waiting for someone. With her focus on Haldir, Annalyn had not seen, until then, that another shape had come into view. Large and grey, it followed in his wake, in a slow but familiar gait.

"No…" A gasping breath. "Is it?"

With everything that had befallen her on this cursed journey, she'd had little cause to smile, much less rejoice. Until now.

"Cobalt," she breathed, her feet already moving, practically stumbling over the ice.

It was him. It was really him!

She closed the distance. "My friend." Her voice faltered, tears rolling down her cheeks as she finally reunited with the animal. How long she remained like so, with her head leaning against the horse's muscled neck, Annalyn had no idea. When she drew back, seeing the gentle eye beneath the familiar forelock, she had to shake her head in amazement. "I thought you were lost to me."

Overjoyed and grateful beyond measure, Annalyn spun around without thinking, threw her arms around Haldir, and held fast. "Thank you," she whispered against the rain-soaked hood of his cloak.

He seemed stunned at first, as if he was unsure of what to do. But then, even as the storm raged around them, Annalyn felt him relax, his arms rising, enfolding her at last.

* * *

Haldir was roasting the ptarmigan on a makeshift spit when Annalyn finally came in from the cold. When she set her newly-returned hunting bow and saddle bags by the cave opening, throwing back her hood as she righted herself, he noted that her cheeks were pink, her eyes alight with the same joy he had seen when he had returned with Cobalt.

It had been an extraordinary stroke of luck, if truth be told, for the land was vast, and the horse could have wandered anywhere. But shortly after Haldir had spotted and skewered that bird, he had sensed a presence nearby, and glanced over his shoulder. And there he had been, plodding through the rain, his large head bobbing up and down.

"It appears my concerns were misplaced," Annalyn said, sounding slightly winded because of the cold. "Cobalt seems to have fared rather well on his own." Facing the interior of the cave, she removed her cloak. "His tack required cleaning, same for his hooves, but he appears in good health."

"He is a strong mount." Haldir agreed without surprise. The people of Rohan were renowned for their horses after all.

"That he is." With her cloak laid out to dry, Annalyn crouched by her saddle bags, and peered inside. "Let us see what we have here… It's all there. And it's all dry!" Astounded, she took note of the items inside, her features brightening with every discovery. "A cooking pot, my favourite cup, tea leaves..." Hand reaching in, she retrieved a cloth-covered bundle. "Fortune is upon us it seems. Look!" Extending the item, she drew the cloth aside, revealing several strips of dried meat.

Shifting her focus to the second pack, Annalyn unfastened the buckle, and opened the leather flap. Upon seeing the contents, she closed her eyes, smiled brightly, and bowed her head, as if in thanks. On a grateful sigh, Annalyn soon produced a blanket, a wash cloth, spare clothing, and a bar of herb-infused soap. "Thank the fates," she whispered and laughed.

Suddenly conscious of the fact that he was staring, Haldir looked to the fire instead.

Moments later, soft laughter echoed in the space. "Oh, that is cold." Glancing up from the sizzling meat, he saw that Annalyn had moved to the mouth of the cave, and was now washing her hands in the shimmering curtain of rain outside. Soap in hand, she scrubbed vigorously. "I have been without supplies for so long, I had forgotten what it feels like to be clean." Having rinsed, she retraced her steps. Then, setting the soap to dry, she glanced down at her attire, and winced. "Though I grant you, I still have a long way to go. What a wretched sight I must be."

She wasn't though. Dirt or no, Annalyn was beautiful in his eyes. Eager to shift his attention, Haldir turned the meat over. "I believe this is cooked through."

"Is it? I am famished. Oh, which reminds me!"

Curious, Haldir waited as she rummaged through her uncle's satchel, the one she had been carrying since they had built the cairn.

"I found something today," Annalyn said then showed him.

"Common bonnets," he said, impressed by the find.

"See? You are not the only one who can provide." Her eyes twinkled as she boasted.

And so it was that they settled for their meal. In contrast to the violent storm outside, it was quiet and warm in the cave, the aroma of actual food filling the air. Midway through their meal, Annalyn glanced at Haldir, made a quiet confession, "You know, I had wondered if Elves hunted at all."

At his questioning gaze, she lowered her eyes, and shrugged. "You seem to have such a profound connection to the trees and the animals that I thought… perhaps…"

"We never kill lightly, if that is your meaning," he began. "But when we do hunt to sustain ourselves, we do so with a humble heart."

Annalyn smiled a little at that. As the fire crackled softly, the two went about finishing their meal. All told, there wasn't much of it, but it was good. Afterward, as they lingered by the fire, Haldir noted the way Annalyn pondered her belongings, her hand lingering on the clean clothes she had retrieved from her saddle bag.

Now that she had soap and a pot in which to heat some water, it occurred to him that she might wish to wash and change. Given where they were, and the respite it offered, he figured she might not get another chance—at least, not until they arrived in Lórien. "I shall have another look outside," he said. "I should like to stretch my legs for a while."

With that, he rose to grab his bow, but paused near the threshold when she said his name, telling him to be safe out there.

Glancing back at her, Haldir saw that she had discerned his intention, her mouth curved in gratitude. He also noted her eyes. They were lovely in this light. Smothering that last observation, he cleared his throat, nodded once, and stepped out into the cold.

Looking around, he found that the rain had not subsided. If anything, it was more intense. Scanning their hidden clearing, he pulled up his hood, and was about to leave when, through the lashing rain, a sound reached his ears—a low snort, followed by a soft neigh.

His features softening, Haldir approached the horse who now stood beneath a lip in the rock, not far from the cave. The gentle creature lowered his head to chomp on a patch of grass that had been spared the worst of the freezing rain.

"Are you weary, my friend?" Haldir asked in the elven-tongue.

For such was the way with Elves and good beasts. While they did not share the same manner of speech, they understood one another. Awareness was a good word for it. Deep and innate, it allowed the Elves to perceive the world, and the benevolent creatures who lived upon it, in a way most could not.

With a lazy blink and a gentle blow of his nostrils, Cobalt conveyed that he was indeed weary—weary but content.

Hand rising to stroke the horse's neck, Haldir smiled a little, and gave voice to what the animal was thinking, "You missed her, and are glad to be with her again." It was not a question. He knew it to be true. Then came the realisation that he, himself, was going to miss Annalyn once she left for home.

_Must I keep doing this?_

In truth, Haldir was slightly irritated with himself. Whether he wished it or not, it seemed Annalyn was anchored in his thoughts. Even now, he was thinking of earlier in the day, of that moment in the rain, and how she had felt in his arms.

Haldir immediately discarded the thought. He was being reckless. A fool. Lest he become besotted to the point where he might throw reason to the wind, he had to cease thinking of her in this fashion. That he had yet to do so baffled and troubled him, for he was usually more disciplined than this.

Genuinely at a loss, he sighed. The situation was so conflicting to him, so new—not the falling in love part. Haldir had known that before, or at least he had begun to, many long years ago. But loving a mortal…

 _That_ was new, unforeseen, and so incredibly unwise.

Was it truly surprising though?

His gaze straying toward the cave, Haldir could not deny that Annalyn appealed to him. Without even trying, she had won him over—with her kindness, her determination and bravery, even her faults and vulnerabilities—captivating him in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time.

Behind the dust and weariness of travel, Annalyn was fair of face and of heart, the latter being the most alluring, if he was honest. When she smiled, the warmth reached her eyes, soft hazel flecked with gold, the sight reminding him that there was still a fair amount of goodness in this fading world.

 _Even so_ , he thought, _it changes nothing_.

They were friends, companions. No longer could they blur the lines and hover on the edge of more. Doing so would only lead to heartache, his and hers, and Haldir didn't want that. He didn't want to cause her pain, nor did he want to intensify the ache he would feel when Annalyn would leave for home.

Falling for her with eyes partly shut was one thing, but they were open now. The kiss had opened them.

Thus, as the rain fell unabated, Haldir set his wayward heart aside, and turned to more pressing matters. War was looming, and as a warden of Lórien, he had to think of the realm, and of the threat that was gathering all around. With a lingering look toward the cave, Haldir slung his bow over his shoulder, bid Cobalt to rest well, and left for another patrol.

* * *

It was getting dark when Haldir finally announced his return. "Annalyn?" she heard him call from somewhere beyond the cave. Seemingly mindful of her privacy, he remained out of sight until she bid him to enter.

"I am decent," Annalyn assured him and pulled on her left boot.

When he ducked through the opening, his hair and clothing soaked through and through, Annalyn couldn't help feeling a little guilty—guilty yet immensely thankful—for here she was, clad in warm, dry, and clean clothes. Honestly, after all this time, it felt a little strange being clean.

Granted, her ablutions hadn't been as efficient as washing in a stream in the summer, or in a wooden tub at home, but considering where she was and all she had been through, scrubbing with soap and pouring warm water over her hair and skin had been more than she could have ever hoped for.

"I looked in on Cobalt. He is doing well," Haldir informed her while setting his bow against the wall.

"You know I never thought I would see him again. Even now, I scarce believe that he is here."

"The rain is turning to snow out there," he said, then shared his belief that the storm would rage all throughout the next day. "Hopefully, it will lift by the morrow. Once the weather clears, we should strike out as soon as we are able." That they could agree on.

"Well, if we are to tarry in this cave, we might as well make ourselves comfortable. Come. Sit by the fire with me. I was thinking of brewing some tea."

"I would like that, thank you," Haldir said, before removing both his cloak and quiver then, much to her shock, his tunic. As her face grew hot, Annalyn swallowed hard, only to realise that he wished to unwrap his bandage so as to check his wound. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Haldir fetched a tiny blade from his satchel, which he then used to cut the thread that was looped through his skin.

Though she was trying not to stare at his strong and well-defined frame, Annalyn found it difficult not to. Hoping he wouldn't notice her ogling, she soon busied herself by sprinkling tea leaves in the boiling water. But when Haldir cursed under this breath, Annalyn realised he was having a bit of trouble, for his wound ran at a downward angle, toward the back of his arm.

"Do you need a hand?"

He frowned and tried one last time before finally giving up. "I cannot reach the last few stitches."

Amused by his frustration, Annalyn rose and rounded the fire. While he accepted her aid, Haldir fell silent as she worked. His posture was straight and rigid now, and he was staring intently at the flames.

Annalyn understood then that the tension had returned—not so cold and distant, but definitely cautious. Suppressing whatever it was that she felt, she accomplished her task and reminded herself that it was better this way—the only way it could and should be.

"Your wound is barely noticeable. I doubt you will even have a scar. There." She sat back to examine her work. "As good as new."

With a nod of thanks, Haldir reached for his tunic while Annalyn gained her feet, and went to sit opposite him, with the fire safely between them. Leaning forth, she then checked on the tea, and found it was ready. Taking care not to spill anything, she leaned forward to hand him a small earthenware cup, which he accepted with a courteous nod. "Careful not to scald yourself," she said.

As he took a sip, she found herself watching him, waiting to see if he liked it as much as she did. While she would never admit to it, Annalyn secretly hoped it would please him, for the blend was of her own making, with herbs she had picked during her travels.

"It is quite good," Haldir declared at length, making her smile. "Fragrant."

"Well the blend is mostly mint. But there is fennel also."

As the rain continued to batter the exterior of the cave, the muffled sound blending with the gentle popping of the flames, they both sat in silence, listening, resting, each borne on their own thoughts. Little by little, Haldir's posture became more relaxed. After a time, he even draped an arm over his knee.

Content to remain like so, Annalyn turned her attention to the collapsing logs near the center of the fire. Then, as she absently spun a dry leaf between her fingers, Haldir surprised her by breaking the silence and venturing a question, "What do you have there?"

She extended her hand to show him. " _Gearwe_. We found them near a pine grove beneath the Misty Mountains." It was a bittersweet memory, the last cheerful days spent with her kin. "Aldin carried the bulk of it. I kept but a little in my pack."

"You hold a significant fondness for growing things," Haldir remarked at length, refilling the cup and handing it over so they could share the tea. "Was it always so?" The fact that he wished to know surprised her a little, though she did not mind in the least.

"Close to it." She shrugged then took a sip. "As a child, I was naturally curious, and would often inquire about the plants my uncle brought back, or even the ones growing out in the meadow." Adrift on distant memories, she fixated on the fire, her voice becoming more subdued. "But it was only later, when the sickness came, that I truly began paying attention, seeking to learn all I could."

"A sickness?"

Annalyn nodded. "A fever," she clarified. "The people of the Westfold remember it as the burning summer. It started with one of the villagers, then two. Within a few days, it had spread like wildfire, striking one dwelling after the other."

Haldir did not speak, instead waited for her to say more.

"With so many people falling ill, it was not long before the healer's stores ran out. My uncle… he tried to help." Setting the _Gearwe_ aside, she wrapped both hands about her tea cup, her fingers suddenly craving its warmth. "He thought to gather more medicine, and rode off in the middle of the night. But there was not enough time."

Lost in sorrowful reminiscence, Annalyn went on, "My aunt sickened and succumbed during his absence. Aldin was only three and ten at the time. So young," she whispered. "So utterly unjust." Ten long years had passed since then.

"My mother caught it. And finally my father… The healer came when he could, but with more and more people falling ill, his visits grew few and far between… I tried to help them. I remained at their bedside and did all I could to lower their fever. But there was naught to be done in the end. My mother died late one night. Two days later, my father followed. It was the hardest thing, seeing the life leave their eyes."

Tears veiled her sight, blurring the flames.

Haldir said, "It is wrong for a child to lose a parent so young."

Annalyn sat a bit straighter, sniffling as she blinked to clear her vision. "It is, though I was not as young as Aldin. I was seven and ten at the time."

"Still."

Silence fell upon the cave like a shroud. Lifting her gaze, Annalyn saw that Haldir was staring at the fire, a crease between his brows. Her story had pained him, she could tell.

"It is a terrible thing losing one's kin," he said, before confessing, "I, too, have lost."

His words reached into the very heart of her, twisting it. She had to ask, "Whom did you lose?"

A long pause ensued. "My mother and father. Among others."

"I am sorry," Annalyn whispered, not knowing what else to say.

Given the boundaries they had set, and how fiercely private he was, the last thing she expected was for him to elaborate. But much to her astonishment, he did exactly that. "I was not with them when they died, but the memory of that day has stayed with me, and forever will."

For a moment, she thought he would lapse into silence, that he had shared as much as he felt capable of, but he continued. The stormy blue of his eyes obscured by sweeping lashes, Haldir stoked the fire and told her of what befell them, late one autumn, over a millenium ago.

"My father was leading a patrol up in the mountains," he said then sought her eyes. "Do you remember the area that I warned you of? In the mountains west of the Golden Wood?"

Annalyn remembered, albeit vaguely. "You had mentioned something about a mine?"

He nodded. "Moria, though in elder days, it was known by another name. Khazad-dûm it was called. A thousand years ago, the Dwarves who dwelt in the mountain suddenly began to flee. At first, the Elves believed that the caverns had been overrun by Orcs, for evil things had been multiplying in the Misty Mountains. Given how much the Dwarves valued their riches and their work, we assumed they would return and take back their halls. But the seasons changed and the mines remained empty."

As he spoke, Annalyn hung on to his every word, her cup halfway to her lips.

"Concerned by these changes, Amroth, who was King of Lórien at the time, dispatched a company of soldiers to look into the matter. When my father's patrol failed to return, a second company was mustered. Orophin and I were on sentry duty that day, on the south-eastern edge of the woods." From this, she gathered that Haldir had not always held the rank he did now.

"What about Rúmil? Where was he?" she asked.

"Being a late addition to our family, he was only eighty at the time, and was therefore too young to join our ranks. No, he was home in Caras Galadhon when all of this came to pass." A fact for which he seemed grateful.

Resuming his story, he said, "By the time news reached me, the second company had already departed." His voice lowered a notch, sorrow lacing every word. "I soon learned that my mother was among them."

Her heart broke for him. Lacking a suitable response, she asked, "Your mother was a soldier?" Why she had chosen that particular question, Annalyn did not know. Still, she had asked, and he answered.

"She was. For a time." Though muted by sadness, there was an air of pride about him. He even managed a small smile.

Annalyn pondered that for a moment, comparing it to the Rohirric way of life. Back in Rohan, it was not unusual for women to wield swords. Most could. But unlike a shieldmaiden of noble birth, a common woman did not generally have the time nor the opportunity to train in the arts of battle. Perhaps it was different for the Elves.

"When elven women bear their children," Haldir went on to explain, "much of their strength passes over to them. And so, once I was begotten, my mother set her duties aside, and remained in Caras Galadhon to care for me and then my brothers. But as we grew and came into our own, the forest would beckon to her every now and again, and she would travel to the border to see my father. Having served with the Galadhrim, she was welcome on the marches, always. It chanced that when his company failed to return, she had gone to see him. When the second company was mustered, my mother was resolute in her desire to accompany them, and the Marchwarden chose to grant her request."

A look of fondness pierced through his sorrow. "If my mother was one thing, she was indomitable, a force of nature, especially when her heart and mind were set. With my father's life at stake, I daresay none could have kept her from going, not even Amroth himself."

His words moved and resonated with her. Indeed, Annalyn could understand his mother's determination. She would have likely done the same.

"Orophin and I hastened to the border, and had just reached the northern fences when sentinels reported seeing smoke in the distance. Suspecting an ambush, the Galadhrim made hasty preparations and, ere nightfall, we were on the mountain, a hundred or so of us, outfitted for battle. Alas," he said, "when we arrived, we were greeted by a smoldering mountainside, the remnants of a savage battle. Based on what we saw, it appeared that my father's patrol had been ambushed upon arrival, the search party as well. Off in the distance, we spied hundreds of Orcs and Goblins scurrying into the mines, taking some of our fallen with them." Hearing this made her shudder, and she couldn't help thinking of Aldin, imagining a similar scene.

"Unwilling to leave our fallen brethren, not knowing whether they were still alive, we pursued the creatures into the caves. But even as we fought and gained ground, retrieving a few of our wounded along the way, we came face to face with a foe so terrible that many of our soldiers stood frozen, stricken with fear."

Both intrigued and alarmed, Annalyn blindly set her cup aside, and wondered what manner of foe would frighten a full company of Elves.

"Indeed, we had long believed that the Balrogs were no more. And yet one towered before us. Never had I beheld anything like it, a whip-wielding beast of shadow and flame."

A chill ran down her spine.

"The _Dwarves_ …" The edge in his voice could not be missed. "They dug too greedily, and in their quest for mithril, they unearthed and awoke this thing, this demon of the underworld, a slumbering remnant of the days of Morgoth."

Balrogs. Morgoth. Annalyn had never heard such names before tonight. Still, her blood ran cold.

"At this point, we had lost several in my company, and more were wounded, including our Marchwarden and his second in command. As our soldiers wavered in fear, I rallied them as best I could, and together we gathered those of us who had been hurt and hastily fled the mines."

This she could imagine, Haldir stepping up to take charge of a dire situation. It was engrained in who he was.

"Day had broken by then, therefore the Orcs did not pursue us. In the end, we lingered only long enough to gather our fallen, most of whom had been shot down or slaughtered on the mountainside," he explained, adding that some had been doused in pitch and burned alive. It made her feel sick.

"I looked and looked, but at first I saw no sign of my mother and father. For a time, I feared the Orcs had snatched them, or that they had been among the ones whose bodies had been left to smoulder on the ground." The muscles of his jaw flexed and tightened. It was a moment before he could continue.

"I had nearly lost hope when, at last, Orophin found them." A small mercy, she thought even as her heart broke for them.

"All things considered, their deaths were clean—or as clean as I could have hoped for."

The fire popped and crackled, sending sparks toward the roof of the cave.

"Of the soldiers we managed to save, there were some who relayed the story to me. My father, I was told, had fallen in the early stages of that first ambush, skewered by Goblin archers. As for my mother, it was said that she fought bravely, with a level of strength equal to that of her days amongst the Galadhrim. But when she found my father…"

Haldir cleared his throat, his voice made rough by grief when he said, "When she saw that he had been slain… her will crumbled, and her strength deserted her. Heartbroken, she knelt by my father and had been cradling his body when she, too, was shot by an arrow."

Haldir dragged a tired hand over his face, no doubt to conceal the pain he still felt.

"I am so sorry," was all she said, all she could say.

"It was a difficult time. I do not usually speak of it," Haldir confessed, and she wondered why he had chosen to do so now, with her. Somehow knowing what a privilege it was, she remained silent, a look of commiseration on her face when he continued, "Neither do my brothers. In the years following my mother and father's deaths, I took it upon myself to look after them. Rúmil especially."

Perhaps it was the way he spoke, but something told her he watched over him still, over both his brothers, much like she had for Aldin in those early years of wandering the mountains together, when he had been but a boy.

"They must be anxious for your return," Annalyn said then.

A small smile broke through. "Doubtless they will be watching the valley. Indeed, it is likely they will be amongst the first to greet us." His eyes brightened somewhat, and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her mouth. Clearly Haldir was quite close to his brothers. It gladdened her heart.

It also made her wonder about his life and the people currently in it. The people he loved.

Later that evening, as she sat with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Annalyn looked beyond the flames, catching sight of Haldir through the rising curls of smoke. He had resumed his watch, his back to her as he stared out into the gathering dark.

" _There is no one_ ," his words lingered in her mind, the admission he had made the other night, following her mistaken assumption that he already loved another. " _At least, not for a long time_."

Annalyn wondered why that was, what might have happened. Perhaps his feeling of responsibility toward his brothers had played a part in it. But then, perhaps she was grasping at straws. For love was a fickle thing, could end in a great number of ways. She would know.

While Annalyn never spoke of it, she too had known love. For a time.

All told, it was a rather brief story, one that had ended in profound shame and disappointment.

Wilmaer.

It had been a good while since she had given any thought to him. Though honestly, she hadn't wanted to think of him.

Originally from Edoras, he had been serving under Théodred, heir to King Théoden and commander of the Westfold, for nearly two years now. The muster with which he rode was charged with guarding the West-Mark. Every other fortnight, their patrol route would bring them to her village, and it was during just such a halt that she had first seen him.

Unattached and charming, he had caught her eye late one evening, when she had gone to fetch Aldin from the mead-hall. As she had stood by one of the tables, helping her jovial and slightly inebriated cousin to his feet, Wilmaer had noticed her, too. Brown of hair, he had held her eyes from across the room, his curved mouth hovering just over his cup. When his smile had broadened, Annalyn had noticed the dimples in his cheeks. She had smiled in kind, but her words had been for Aldin. "Time to go home."

Wilmaer had sought her out the next day, as she was gathering supplies for an upcoming journey in the mountains. She had found him gallant and pleasant. He had even made her laugh. What had struck her the most, however, had been his broad-mindedness. Unlike most men, Wilmaer was not mystified by what she chose to do with her life. "A free spirit," was what he had called her, and she'd liked that.

Thus, began their story.

It was not conventional, by any means. But then it had been long since she had lived a conventional life.

Between his patrols and her lengthy wanderings, they had seen each other only when they could, usually for a day or two at a time. They had also kept their feelings a secret, though she sensed Aldin had known.

Forced to steal brief moments here and there, Wilmaer had been wont to seek her out in the stable, oft surprising her as she tended to Cobalt.

In the mead-hall, while keeping to their respective circles and tables, they had often thrown fleeting but knowing looks to one another. Annalyn had found joy in those moments, and when Wilmaer had broached the subject one night, she had actually entertained the idea of a betrothal and a more sedentary life.

Alas, keeping in theme with the rest of her existence, her happiness had been short-lived.

One day, upon returning from the mountains earlier than expected, Annalyn had thought to surprise him. But when she had walked into the soldier's stable, and found him with his arm laced around that other maiden's waist, their mouths fused in a lingering kiss…

The air had rushed out of her lungs.

Disbelief. Hurt. Betrayal. Annalyn had felt all those things. She had also felt foolish. Desperate to leave, she had stumbled backward, the heel of her boot thumping against the stable door. Wilmaer had released the maid at once.

" _Annalyn_." She would never forget the stunned expression on his face, nor the way he had looked afterward, when he had taken a step toward her and stopped, seeing the rapid shake of her head.

 _Too late_ , she had thought, discerning his shame, his regret. _There is no coming back from this_.

Instead of confronting Wilmaer, Annalyn had merely stared—ignoring the other maid altogether—before finally spinning on her heel and walking out the door.

"Wait!" he had called after her. But she had never looked back.

A year and many months had passed since then. Annalyn had not forgotten that awful day in the stable, nor had she forgiven Wilmaer. But she had moved beyond it in the sense that it no longer hurt in the way it used to.

It had been a gradual process, the slow healing of time. In the days immediately following his betrayal, hurt had turned to anger, which in turn had yielded to profound disappointment. That, too, had lessened over time. Looking back on it now, Annalyn felt a dull kind of acceptance—though a fair amount of shame remained.

Shame for believing in Wilmaer. And shame for what she had so foolishly granted him, in a heady moment of weakness late one night. Unwilling to dwell on that particular memory, Annalyn stoked the flames, and turned her thoughts to the future.

It was a strange thing, the passage of time. How quickly it went. In a few short years, she would be thirty. Most of the girls she had grown up with were now wed, some with two or three children in tow.

But to experience love in that way, to truly live it, was not her lot in life. Annalyn had made peace with that. And in the wide open spaces of the world, she had found another kind of contentment, a feeling born out of knowing she was contributing, making a difference in the lives of those back home. A purpose.

As for Wilmaer, she would cross paths with him every now and again. They had even spoken once, or rather he had spoken to her—a quiet and subdued greeting as she had walked by him at market. He regretted. That much was clear. But he had lost her forever that day, for love without trust is but an empty promise. She would rather be alone. So she was.

Daring another lingering look, Annalyn spied her beautiful guardian standing nearby. Haldir would never do such a thing, she knew. One might have said she was merely guessing, but she did not believe so. He was too disciplined to engage in such a reckless betrayal. He was also loyal, wholly devoted to those he loved. Annalyn had seen that tonight, when he had spoken of his brothers. It was also evident in the honorable and dutiful way he served his realm, his beloved Lothlórien.

No, he was nothing like Wilmaer. _Not that it matters_ , she thought wistfully, but had to correct herself. It mattered.

It mattered because he was her friend, because she had come to trust him with her life.

It mattered because, deep down—despite the uselessness of it all—Annalyn knew she had fallen for him.


	28. A Very Cold Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little longer. I was away for a few days without a laptop, then work got in the way. To make up for it, I am aiming to post another chapter by next weekend or early next week *fingers crossed*.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A VERY COLD NIGHT **  
**

The storm raged on, delaying their journey for one more night. The very last, according to Haldir, who was usually right about these things.

Because the wind had changed directions, cold air was now sweeping through the entrance, leaving a gathering layer of snow just inside the cave. As if that wasn't bad enough, Annalyn and Haldir had lost their fire today. The logs they had gathered earlier that morning had taken forever to thaw. And once the ice had melted, the wood had been too damp to hold a flame. It still was.

After the relative comfort of the past two days, this bout of ill-luck was a disheartening turn. Gone was the warmth of their fire, the dancing light of the flames. To get away from the intruding wind, Annalyn had moved to a sheltered corner of the cave, where she was now working to ignite the branches and wood shavings by her feet. This was their backup plan; Haldir was still working on the first.

"Come on, come on…" Her whispered words echoed in the gathering gloom.

Firesteel struck against flint, sending a shower of sparks onto the charcloth at the bottom of the tinderbox. Repeating the motion, Annalyn hissed a curse and shook the pain from her hand. This was the third time she had caught her knuckles on that flint. With fraying patience, she continued with her task until the charcloth finally smouldered. With a renewed spark of hope, Annalyn completed the steps necessary to transfer a tiny flame to her kindling.

But it was no use.

"The fire will not catch." Frustrated by her lack of success, she tossed the tinderbox aside, and hung her head for a moment. _Calm yourself._ _Breathe_.

Good gracious it was cold. Bringing her stiff and aching fingers to her mouth, Annalyn blew onto them, and glanced up to see how her companion was faring.

Working to restore the flames, Haldir was crouched by the powdery circle that used to be their fire. Thanks to his tireless efforts, a few embers remained—though by the looks of it, it wouldn't be long before they dimmed into useless ash.

Holding his hair out of the way, Haldir leaned over the steaming wood, blowing gently upon the kindling and the embers below. Each breath sent a ripple of intensifying light across his features.

"Still no luck?" Annalyn asked.

Haldir shot a gaze in her direction, his grim features telling her all she needed to know. "Here," she said, fetching her tinderbox and bringing it over.

Having travelled for many years, Annalyn was no stranger to cold nights. But this cold rivaled, even surpassed, the coldest nights of her life.

 _It was never supposed to be this way_.

When she and her kin had set off from their village, at the turn of autumn, they had meant to head back south as quickly as their route allowed. If their journey hadn't gone awry, if her uncle and cousin hadn't been slain, they never would have stayed this far north. Not for so long. And the bulk of their supplies wouldn't have been scattered and lost—including those thick furs that could ward off the bitterest cold.

Indeed, if her company hadn't fallen prey to Orcs, they would have been well on their way to Rohan by now, where the air was sweet and mild, even in winter. Instead, Annalyn was stranded in a cave, somewhere in the vales of Rhovanion, cold and shivering, with nothing but a cloak and a blanket to survive the night.

At least Haldir was here. As was Cobalt.

Suddenly fretful for her horse, Annalyn grabbed one of her saddle bags, and went to check on him.

Night was falling fast. It would be completely dark soon. Hunched against the cold, Annalyn navigated the snow-drift that was accumulating outside the cave. Almost knee-deep, it slowed her steps until she was clear of it. As she approached her horse, the wind stung her face, so did the falling snow, for instead of fluffy snowflakes, the air was laden with tiny ice pellets.

"Hello, dear friend. Miserable night, is it not?" She ran a hand along the horse's muscled neck and, with an upward glance, thanked the fates for the overhang. At least the wind wasn't so fierce on this side, and the snow hadn't fully covered the ground either. Tall stalks of grass still protruded from the snow, brushing against her boots with every gust.

Reaching into her saddle bag, Annalyn produced a handful of oats. "Soon we will be home. The grass is sweet in the Riddermark, remember?" As Cobalt picked the oats with his lips, a lopsided smile broke through her downcast expression. "The grass in Lothlórien will be good, too. Fresh and green. I promise."

Satisfied that Cobalt was doing well, Annalyn retraced her steps, braving the wind until she entered the cave again. Crouched where she had last seen him, Haldir was rearranging the logs on the pitiful remnants of their campfire. The embers had mostly faded to grey. The damp wood wasn't even steaming anymore. Blowing into her hands, she offered to take over, but her companion refused, dismissing her with a sharp look and a quick shake of his head.

Annalyn raised her brows.

Haldir was in a sour mood. Not that she blamed him. The loss of their fire was dispiriting. Thinking it was best to let him be, she was edging the wall next to the entrance, seeking the corner, when a frustrated utterance reached her ears.

" _Rhaich!_ "

Taken aback by the quiet outburst, she turned and blinked at her companion. Haldir was scowling at the circle of ash, his nostrils flaring like they always did whenever he was displeased. "It is no use," he said at last, tossing a log aside as he rose.

Though she understood and shared his frustration, Annalyn couldn't help it. Her mouth twitched. Haldir, the cool and unflappable Marchwarden of Lórien, was angered by his failure. Hoping to mask her amusement—for it was better to laugh than cry—she suppressed her smile, reached into her pack, and produced a dried strip of meat. "Here," she said, extending the meagre offering.

With a breath, Haldir gained mastery over his emotions. Nodding in thanks, he took the proffered food, and went to sit against the wall.

Joining him, Annalyn considered the cave in which they sat. Without their fire, the temperature was plummeting, the space darkening by the minute. Resigned to a night without light and warmth, she pursed her lips, her head thudding against the smooth stone at her back.

They had long since finished their humble meal when Haldir's voice carried over the haunting wind, his words unwontedly gentle when he said, "I am sorry for the fire. I wanted…"

She looked sidelong at him. "I know." He had wanted to save their fire for both of them, yes. But mostly for her. With gratitude in her heart, Annalyn watched his downcast features, his fair skin standing out in the dimness. "You gave it your all. We both did." Now she smiled a little. "It was good while it lasted. Now if only this storm would lift."

"It will. By tomorrow, I reckon."

"Well, if this is to be our last night in the cave, I should try to sleep."

Without a fire to betray their presence, Haldir relaxed his watch somewhat. Instead of standing by the entrance, he remained by her side, sitting cross-legged while Annalyn settled in to sleep.

Wrapped in her cloak and blanket, she lay curled on her side, her arms and legs tucked in close. When the shivering started, she tried not to think of the coldness of the cave floor, how the chill seeped through her clothing, her flesh, reaching her very bones. With the bottom half of her face concealed beneath her blanket, Annalyn had just closed her eyes—envisioning a warm summer day—when something ghosted along her shoulder.

Even in the dark, she knew what it was; its soft cedar scent gave it away.

The elven cloak.

Moved beyond reason, she rose on her forearm and looked to her companion, her dearest friend. "Haldir, no." Her refusal was gentle but earnest.

This was, by far, the coldest night they had spent without a fire. And elven garb or no, his tunic had a large gash on the sleeve. To lie here, wrapped in multiple layers while he sat in nothing but his clothes would have been wrong. Hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way, Annalyn gave a subtle shake of her head. "You are not doing this. Not tonight."

But Haldir said nothing. Leaving the cloak where it lay, he regarded her with an unreadable expression. And then he was easing away. When he started to gain his feet, Annalyn stopped him by grasping his sleeve. She hadn't really thought about it. She had just done it. And now, with a nervous feeling in her stomach, Annalyn waited.

There are times when words are needful—to clarify or define—but in that moment, none were spoken.

Haldir wanted her to have his cloak, whereas she wanted him to wear it. It was a stalemate, a silent clashing of wills that ultimately ended in compromise. It was the only way.

Whether she moved first, or he did, Annalyn hadn't the faintest. But when she lifted her blanket in welcome, Haldir was settling alongside her.

Her throat bobbed. Hoping he wouldn't discern her nervousness, Annalyn laid back down, with her back to him. They were doing this for warmth, she kept telling herself. By necessity.

Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps it wasn't. But emotional awkwardness aside, it was the most sensible thing to do.

Painfully aware of his proximity, Annalyn told herself that they had done this before, after finding that war camp. But that was before their kiss, before their feelings had blossomed, complicating things.

As seconds turned to minutes, Annalyn willed her thrumming heart to slow. It wasn't as cold now. As conflicting as it was, Haldir's nearness was warm and comfortable. It was pleasant. A torment.

Unable to sleep, a part of her ached to see his face, ached to know what he was thinking right now. The effect he had on her was undeniably visceral. Was it the same for him? Haldir had feelings for her. Of that she had no doubt. But whether or not they ran as deeply as hers, Annalyn did not know. Maybe it was better that way.

 _How did I fall so quickly?_ she wondered with a sad kind of awe.

Somewhere along the way, without her realising, Haldir had gotten into her bloodstream, his comforting presence stirring her in ways she never would have guessed or imagined. Her thoughts turning to their journey—or what remained of it—Annalyn couldn't help the pang in her chest at knowing she would have to leave him soon. Just thinking of it…

Tears stung her eyes. One of them slipped free. As it rolled over the bridge of her nose, falling past her face, to the lining of her hood, she raised a hand to wipe the salty trail, only to realise that this single, careless gesture betrayed all that was in her heart.

She froze, breathless in the dark. As she waited in mild panic, her blanket shifted, then Haldir's hand was on her upper arm, squeezing gently.

He knew.

How long they lingered in this fashion, Annalyn had no idea. Her thoughts were tangled, her emotions too numerous and conflicting to name. Outside, the wind sang its haunting song, the notes at once angry and mournful.

The wisest thing to do would have been to close her eyes, to contend herself with the comfort of his warmth. Instead, Annalyn tested the waters by sidling a bit closer. Just for tonight.

Annalyn chewed her lip. An endless moment went by. Then Haldir shifted, moving the rest of the way until his chest was pressed firmly at her back, his arm slowly wrapping around her body, holding her to him as though he feared she would fly away.

In a perfect world, there wouldn't be this impassable gulf between them. She would be like him, or he would be like her. The same. Compatible. In a perfect world, turning in his arms and seeking his mouth would be an easy decision. Kissing him would be sweet instead of tragic.

And so Annalyn lay in the bracing circle of his arm. With closing eyes, she sent her hand in search of the muscled forearm that was now lying across her chest. _He is holding me_ , she marveled even as her heart splintered in her chest. _Haldir is holding me_.

As tears welled in her eyes once more, Annalyn brushed her cheek against the hand he had curled around her shoulder, hoping it would soothe her turmoil and assuage the pain she felt.

It didn't.

How cruel and maddening it was, to love someone you couldn't have.

In the long hours that ensued, not a word was spoken, and neither of them moved. Lulled by his breathing, Annalyn drifted off to sleep after a time—a dreamless but restful sleep, after which they arose to find that the storm had lifted at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Rhaich! - "Curses!"


	29. A Precarious Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who have been reading this story, those who are subscribed or have clicked kudos. And a thousand thank yous to my reviewers. You guys are the best!

CHAPTER XXIX

A PRECARIOUS EDGE

" _Mae govannen_." The utterance was low, the enunciation distinct but pleasing to the ear. Uniquely hers. " _Mae govannen_."

Annalyn wished to learn Sindarin—the rudiments of it anyway—and had been practicing various words and expressions for a few days now. Honestly, Haldir was rather impressed, for learning a new language could be rather daunting; he would know, having done it himself. But Annalyn was doing quite well. In addition to being attentive, she was tenacious, a trait that would certainly help her in this instance.

With four or five days of travelling still before them, he was curious to see how much she would retain by the time they reached Lothlórien. If she kept up in this fashion, as he firmly believed she would, they might even be able to hold a simple conversation in Sindarin before she left for home. The idea pleased him at any rate.

A sigh netted his attention. "I should know this," Annalyn whispered to herself, her brows drawn together. "Come on, Annalyn. Think." A breath of frustration and she looked to him, her loosely-gathered braid gleaming in the midday sun. "It would seem that I have forgotten how to properly introduce myself. Remind me again?" The sheepish smile she gave sparked an amused one of his own.

"Well," Haldir replied, "you would begin with your name, and follow with _'i eneth nîn'_."

"Ah, yes." Clearing her throat, Annalyn looked ahead, frowning in concentration as she tried the words. Then, as if she was truly introducing herself to someone, she smiled warmly, inclined her head, and said it again. " _Annalyn_ _i eneth nîn."_ To him, she raised her eyebrows. "Like so?"

"Like so." He nodded, and loved the way she had said it, the unique and gentle lilt of her voice.

As Annalyn continued to practice, moving on to other expressions, Haldir scanned the landscape in hopes of spotting a familiar feature that might establish their exact location. Seeing nothing of note, he scanned the mountain range instead. Further south and to the west of them, his gaze fell on the familiar snow-capped peaks of Fanuidhol and Caradhras, with Celebdil peeking out from behind them. The peaks themselves were forbidding and imposing—like giant teeth of rock and ice—but they were a heartening sight as well, for the woods of Lothlórien stood relatively near to their feet.

Given the rolling terrain, the elven woods were not yet visible, but Haldir knew it would not be long now.

Throwing a glance at his companion, he considered the distance they had covered together thus far. While the storm had been a hindrance, delaying them, they had made good time since leaving the cave, two and a half days ago. With Annalyn riding on horseback, and Haldir maintaining a swift and easy stride beside her, they might even make up for some of the time they had lost.

In truth, Haldir was rather impressed with her. Though Elves and Men were largely sundered, his people often said that mortals were resilient, that they could rise and trudge forth after the most crushing of adversities. Haldir now saw the truth of this.

Annalyn was still grieving, yes—and he sometimes caught her staring toward her homeland, looking pensive and troubled, as if the future weighed heavy on her mind—yet she never brooded for long, but rather kept herself occupied, doing the things necessary to survive out here, like gathering edible roots and mushrooms, taking care of Cobalt, even crafting a lean-to like she had done last night.

Just seeing her accomplish those tasks, with quiet focus and efficiency, it was apparent that Annalyn was in her element out here. And in those quiet moments at the end of the day, when she would sit by their nightly fire, sipping herbal tea, he often noted the way she would stare at the mountains, like one who was both awed and humbled by their frozen heights.

When he had commented on it last night, she had looked to him, smiling a little when she had said, " _There is something about the sight of snow beneath the stars. For some reason, it reminds me of a slumbering world, a place of silence and starlight far removed from the sorrows of Men_." And in these words, Haldir had perceived her love for the wilds, the wide open spaces of the world. A love that endured despite all that had befallen her of late.

Now the more Haldir marched, the more his thoughts turned to Lothlórien and their impending arrival there. Elven society being what it was, he could easily imagine the border guards' puzzlement at seeing the maid of Rohan again. They would remember her to be sure, for travellers were highly uncommon these days, trespassers even more so. Talk had spread the last time around.

Some, like Rúmil, had been rather intrigued by his decision to lead Annalyn's company across the River Celebrant. Even so, Haldir's sentinels were respectful and disciplined, his youngest brother included. While they might not be privy to his every thought, they always deferred to his judgment, trusting in his ability to lead. Curious though they had been, none had presumed to challenge his command that day. Alas, the same could not be said for Erynion, the Marchwarden who commanded the southern fences.

" _You took a risk, my friend_ ," he had said, when the two had met to exchange news, less than a day after Annalyn and her kin had left the Golden Wood. " _I would not have granted them such freedom_."

While Haldir could understand Erynion's concerns, he had made no apologies. With an upturned brow, he had stood by his decision, countering with cool words of his own. " _I saw no need to detain them or bar their way. They posed no threat to the Naith, and meant only to pass through_."

Erynion had pursed his lips. " _A dangerous precedent_."

" _That is your estimation. Not mine_."

His fellow warden had considered him for a long moment. But then, his mouth pulling in feigned conciliation, Erynion had clasped Haldir's arm, his other hand landing heavily on his shoulder. " _Good thing they passed in the west, then_." Inclining his head, the russet-haired warden had taken a step back. " _We shall speak again soon. I must head back_."

What Erynion would make of Annalyn's return, Haldir could only imagine. One thing was certain; he would make his thoughts known. He always did.

Be that as it may, Haldir hoped to lead Annalyn into the very heart of the forest, into the city that he loved. Erynion could object as much as he wanted, the final decision was not even his to make. Nor was it Haldir's. Rather, it would fall to the Lord and the Lady of the Galadhrim, the esteemed keepers of the realm, Eldar who perceiving much, if not all that took place within and around the borders.

Having gotten to know Annalyn, Haldir felt certain that they would see the goodness in her—Lady Galadriel especially. Wise and gifted, the Lady of the Wood could peer into people's hearts, discerning their hopes and fears, even their innermost thoughts.

Still, Haldir would have to adhere to the laws and gain the Lord and the Lady's permission ere Annalyn reached the city, for none could enter without leave.

Indeed, it was uncommon for trespassers to even reach the Naith. The rare few who somehow managed the feat were usually hauled before Lothlórien's rulers, to be judged or released, depending on intent. Granted, such an occurrence was exceedingly rare, for the woods of Lothlórien were well guarded. But it happened nonetheless.

Haldir didn't want that for Annalyn. He didn't want her to be escorted like an unwelcomed tresspasser. For a brief moment, his mind supplied an image of her, flanked by cool and impassive guards, Erynion among them. It wouldn't happen, he knew. Haldir was a Marchwarden after all, and his word—while not exactly the law—still carried some weight. He would even answer for her if need be.

No. When Annalyn finally walked through the gates of Caras Galadhon, she would do so freely and without embarrassment, as a friend of the Elves. _I will see to it_ , he thought and glanced at her serene profile, at her lithe form, which was swaying with the gentle motion of her horse.

* * *

They had been journeying south for a few hours when the two decided to stop by a shimmering stream. It was mid afternoon, the air slightly warmer than the day before.

"Aren't you going to refill your waterskin?" Annalyn asked Haldir as she knelt by the rippling water. Now that she had recovered parts of her supplies, it was nice having two waterskins from which to drink.

"Nay. Mine is yet full," Haldir replied, eyes skimming their surroundings.

Downing some of the water, Annalyn refilled her waterskin again, and came to stand beside him. "What are you thinking?"

His attention was fixed onto a nearby forest. "I am thinking that there might be small game in this area."

As Cobalt stamped quietly beside her, Annalyn considered the line of evergreens that stretched before them. The sunlit trees stood like proud sentinels, the ground at their feet open and devoid of brambles. Haldir was right; it could be a good spot to find rabbits or even larger game.

Eyeing her hunting bow, which she had hooked over her saddle bag, Annalyn said, "We should hunt, then." Once she had fetched her bow, Annalyn indicated an area of the woods just to the south. "You know, we would double our chances if we split up. How about you look over there, and I look over here? The sun is shining; this forest is airy. I doubt we will encounter Orcs in there. And if we do not find anything within the hour, we meet back here and combine our efforts. What say you?"

Haldir seemed unsure, so Annalyn planted a hand on her hip. "I have been hunting on my own since long before I met you. I have no need of a bodyguard, Haldir. Besides, while my waterskin was empty just now, my bladder is not. I need privacy."

Catching her meaning, Haldir spread his hands in immediate surrender, and she laughed as he took a few steps back, amusement shining in his eyes when he said, "An hour, then."

"An hour," she concurred, and started walking toward the forest, lead in hand. "Come on, Cobalt. Let us find you a spot to graze."

Nearly an hour had passed. Annalyn was still creeping through the forest, her eyes narrowing as she searched the trees and the sunlit gaps in between. With their supply of dried meat running low, she was eager to find something else to eat, something that would satisfy her growing hunger.

Walking in the shadow of a tree, she skirted around a patch of melting snow, her boots falling silent on the pine needles covering the ground. Thinking it was time to head back, she was about to give up when movement caught her eye. It was a pheasant, a female by the looks of it, its mottled brown plumage blending almost perfectly with the forest floor.

Eyes fixed on what she hoped would be their next meal, Annalyn raised her hunting bow. Mindful not to make a sound, she slowly fitted an arrow to the string, aimed as she pulled, then released.

The arrow sang, and the bird disappeared behind a tree. The broken rhythm of its wings told her she had hit her target—though not true enough if the poor thing was still alive.

Sick at heart, Annalyn hastened ahead in hopes of putting the poor bird out of its misery.

Following the sounds, she promptly found the pheasant as it floundered in a patch of sunlight. Grieved by its suffering, Annalyn approached the injured bird, and weighed her method.

Hunting was a necessary skill out here, and she was usually good at it. Nevertheless, this was the part she hated. If only her arrow had hit true.

Whispering a heartfelt apology, Annalyn took care of it in a manner that was both swift and humane. As the pheasant grew still, a sound drew her attention, a faint trickle from somewhere between the trees. Slinging her bow upon her back, she saw what looked to be a spring-fed pool, at the bottom of a rock wall that might have been part a ridge.

Thinking it would be a good spot to pluck the bird's feathers and clean the meat, Annalyn made for the water's edge and knelt down.

Scarcely had she done so when a feeling came over her. There was something off about this pond, about the faint but sickening smell that hung in the air.

With the bird dangling from one hand, it wasn't long before she spotted something protruding from the water on the other side of the pool. Branches?

No, she realised with a widening gaze. They were antlers, the rest of the skull just visible beneath the surface. For the first time since venturing in this forest, her ears picked up the low buzzing of flies.

With a growing sense of dread, and no small amount of disgust, Annalyn surveyed the entirety of the pool and found that there were bones in the water, along with floating bits of foamy brown… _stuff_. She didn't even want to know.

This was a feeding ground. But who or what fed here? Annalyn shot to her feet, but in her haste, she lost her grip on the pheasant. As it slipped from her fingers, she mouthed a silent curse and made to grab its wing. Alas, the bird plopped into the foul water before she could catch it. As ripples radiated around the pheasant, she recoiled then shifted her focus to the rock wall beyond the pool.

The spring that bubbled from the rock wall ran clear. However, the same could not be said for a second source, not five feet away. It was some sort of run-off, reddish-brown, with a faint but sickening smell. Trying not to gag, Annalyn followed the glistening stain with her eyes, and saw that it came from a cave, just up above. Discarded bones could be seen near the opening.

Annalyn's throat bobbed, her heart thumping so hard as to drown out everything. Eyes on the cave, she backed up a few steps, leaving the pheasant where it was—it grieved her to do so, but the meat was most likely tainted anyway.

She back up another step. Her boots squished into what she hoped was mud. And then she heard something. A growl, or a low guttural voice. More than one actually. From deep within the cave. They didn't sound like Orcs. Trolls, then?

_This is not good._

More than ready to leave, she took another backward step, before turning and running out of there as quickly as her feet would carry her.

Upon reaching Cobalt, Annalyn released his tether, and climbed in the saddle. Moments later, she arrived at their rendezvous spot only to find that Haldir had yet to arrive. "Damn…" she breathed, as her horse pranced beneath her frame.

Keeping to the sunlit meadow lining the forest, Annalyn rode along the tree-line in hopes of finding Haldir.

If that was a troll den, she and Haldir would be safe enough for now—for trolls were unique in the sense that they turned to stone in sunlight. Even so, Annalyn had no desire to remain here. "Pssst!" she hissed as she drew rein by the forest, hoping Haldir's elven ears would pick up the sound. "Haldir!" A sharp whisper.

Receiving no reply, she rode forth for a few minutes, then doubled back. "Haldir!" she called again, slightly louder this time. "Haldir!"

"What is it?" He came running out of the forest, alarm etched all over his face.

"We are not staying here," she answered at once. "There is a nasty cave in that forest. It think it might be a troll den. I heard growls inside." Turning in the saddle, Annalyn fastened her bow and quiver to her saddle bag. Once that was done, she saw that Haldir had already closed the distance.

"Climb on," she told him as Cobalt stamped on the spot.

For once, Haldir did not argue. Before she knew it, he had swung up behind her, his inner thighs hugging the sides of hers.

"It might be best if you held tight," Annalyn suggested and spurred her horse as his hands found her hips.

* * *

They had been galloping for a while when Annalyn decided to ease their pace to a light trot. Dusk had since fallen, and the stars were out, along with a full moon. To their right, the Misty mountains stretched in a southerly route, their icy tops tinged in the bluish glow of night.

"The valley is quiet this night," Haldir said from behind her shoulder. "Whatever creatures dwelt in that cave, they have not followed. We can halt if you are weary."

But Annalyn remained unsettled. "I do not think I can sleep out here. Not quite yet. Would you mind if we rode a little farther still?"

When Haldir voiced no objection, Annalyn smoothed a hand over Cobalt's mane. "What say you, my friend?" She glanced at the animal, looking for signs of fatigue. But then, to her surprise, Haldir actually leaned forward. Peering over her shoulder, he addressed Cobalt, repeating her query in Sindarin.

As if in answer, the horse blew a breath from his nostrils, and kept on trotting.

"He does not mind." Haldir stated matter-of-factly. She had to laugh.

"How does that work exactly? The way you speak to him."

They were edging a grouping of shrubs when Haldir answered over the light clipping of hooves. "The Elves call it _sanwe-latya_."

" _Sanwe…la…tya?_ "

"In the common tongue, it means 'thought-opening'."

Annalyn frowned even as she smiled. "Do you mean to say you can read thoughts?" It would be an impressive skill to be sure, but one that unnerved her a little. If Haldir could read minds, then he might be able to read her innermost thoughts, her feelings, parts of herself that were hers and hers alone. The notion that he might know more than she was ready or willing to share settled like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

Haldir replied, "It is said that we all can, however it takes a strong mind to master the skill and use it freely. But in answer to your query…" His tone gentled. "Nay, I cannot read the thoughts of Elves or Men."

Annalyn would have sagged in relief had she not caught herself in time.

"However, I am keen of hearing. And by the way your stomach is currently growling, I shall venture a guess, and say you are thinking of food."

He was not wrong. She was famished. When her stomach growled again, heat rose to her cheeks. How embarrassing.

Haldir spoke over her shoulder. "We shall have to remedy that before long."

"I almost did. Oh Haldir, it was such a waste," she lamented and told him of the pheasant she had killed. "Poor bird. I shot it for naught."

"The blame lies not with you. Take heart," he said evenly, "Perhaps tomorrow will bring better fortune."

Annalyn could only hope. After all, the _lembas_ was long gone. And they were almost out of dried meat.

"Once we reach Lothlórien, you shall not lack for food," Haldir went on to say. "This I can promise you. Fruit, pastries,"—Annalyn groaned on a laugh, her mouth watering at the mere thought of it—"bread and greens topped with—"

Head thrown back, she begged him to stop. Even with her eyes closed, the vision was clear as glass in her mind; a long table laden with all manner of succulent dishes. "You," she said with emphasis, "are _not_ helping."

His chuckle reverberated against her back, the low rumble a delight to her senses. It was then that she realised how close they were sitting. How her head was still resting against his shoulder. A precarious edge for sure.

As the saddle swayed beneath her frame, Annalyn clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, and turned her face just so, wondering. Haldir was only visible in her periphery. Still, she sensed his quiet gaze on her, heard the slight change in his breathing.

The effect was immediate and profound. Desire, the likes of which she had not felt in a long time, if ever, ignited from deep within her being. _He will see. He will know_.

Still, Annalyn did not turn away. Had no desire to.

* * *

Haldir was riveted, unable to tear his eyes from the woman whose moonlit face was a scant few inches from his own.

Annalyn's head was only partly turned. Still, he discerned the blush that was now painting her cheeks, the sight stirring him in ways he could not define. In truth, Haldir was unaccustomed to riding in this fashion, with a woman's form so close to his. "Distracting" was a good word for it. A very good word at that.

Just now, when Annalyn had asked if he could read minds, Haldir had answered truthfully; her thoughts were unknown to him. Even so, there was much he could sense, hear, and see. And right now, whether she realised it or not, Annalyn was an open book to him. The softness of her downcast features, combined with the hastening beats of her heart, reminded him of that fateful night, when gentle emotions had prompted her to cradle his face and kiss his mouth.

In the aftermath of that kiss, the two had agreed smother the feelings that had kindled between them. Clearly, they were failing in that regards. While Annalyn had yet to meet his eyes, the narrow space between his chest and her back had long since vanished.

Enthralled, Haldir swept a gaze along the line of her neck—down then up toward the rounded shell of her ear. A strange but lovely shape, he thought and looked to her face once more.

As an unwed Elf, Haldir was seldom influenced by the desires of his body alone, but now that his heart was in play, a profound yearning had settled into his flesh, quickening his blood and making his head spin.

With closing eyes, he swallowed hard but did not move away. Nor did he ask to dismount so he could walk instead.

Perhaps this made him a fool, or a glutton for punishment, but as they rode beneath the glittering stars, Haldir's hands remained on Annalyn's hips, his fingers savouring the warmth of her skin through her clothing. Try as he might, it was an effort not to envision the smooth curves beneath.

Though unintended, their ride had turned into an exercise in restraint, one that further blurred the line they had drawn in the sand. As the saddle rocked beneath them, Haldir was painfully aware of Annalyn's nearness, of the maddening friction that marked every hoofbeat.

 _Ae_ …

Before his body could fully betray him, revealing the extent of his desire, Haldir summoned whatever strength was left to him, and released her hips in favour of laying his palms on his thighs. Regretful though it was, the loss off contact helped to slow his blood and dissolve the spell.

Shaking herself out of it, Annalyn mirrored his retreat by straightening her spine and creating a gap between them. She was staring straight ahead, with noticeable tension in her shoulders. With forced casualness she said, "We should make camp. This seems like a good spot."

Annalyn drew rein near a lone pine tree, and Cobalt came to a full stop. She dismounted first, and when he followed suit, his feet meeting the grass on the opposite side of the horse, Haldir noticed how she wouldn't look him in the eye. With the saddle between them, he watched as she unfastened her rolled blanket from where it was secured. Softly, he said, "Annalyn—"

"This buckle..." She made a show of struggling with the leather strap. "I should have replaced it before setting off. I shall have to see to it when I get home." A few more tugs and it came free. "There. Would you mind feeding Cobalt for me? There is a bag of oats in my saddle pack." She spoke on a breath and, barely meeting his eyes, gave a nervous smile. "I am dead from all that riding."

Whatever else she might be feeling, Haldir could tell that Annalyn was embarrassed. The sight pained and shamed him.

No sooner had he agreed to tend to Cobalt, than she expressed her thanks and left him there.


	30. Return to Lothlórien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you have all been so patient, and because I feel a bit bad for the slow pace of this story, I decided to merge two chapters together. I hope you are all doing well. Thanks to all who have been reading this story. It means a lot.

CHAPTER XXX

RETURN TO LOTHLÓRIEN

She couldn't sleep.

Wrapped in her blanket, near the foot of the lone pine tree, Annalyn kept going over that moment with Haldir, torturing herself with the memory. They hadn't kissed, hadn't done anything per say. But they had shared a moment. Without meaning to at first, she had leaned against him and, craving his proximity, had lingered. Haldir, for his part, had been content to let her. For a time he had seemed as transfixed as she had felt. But ultimately, thankfully, his good sense had won out, and he had eased away.

Shifting to find a more comfortable position, Annalyn readjusted her blanket, and cemented her resolve. _You cannot lose your head like this_. _You cannot be so weak._ She was, though. Clearly.

The feel of his chest, strong and firm against her back, and that of his hands on her hips… _Gracious._

She opened her eyes, and found herself watching him. She couldn't help it; he captivated her.

At present, Haldir stood in silent watch, some distance away. A firmament of stars shone above him, for the moon had set, and was no longer washing out the stars. A faint breeze stirred his hair and cloak but, like all the Elves, Haldir could stand eerily still. His posture, however, was far from relaxed.

Before she knew it, he turned his face to look at her, as though he had sensed her gaze from afar. The set of his features conveyed that he was restless, troubled. She knew why.

They had indulged even though they shouldn't have. For a brief moment in time, they had hovered on the very edge of more.

If Haldir had not pulled back when he had… If he had kissed her cheek, or the side of her neck, she would have likely yielded, granting him aught that he wished this night. Such was the effect he had on her.

It was hard to believe she had loathed him at one time. She had been wary, even frightened of him at first. Oh how she had hated the way he used to stare down his nose at her, like she had been some bothersome little creature, beneath him and his elven brothers.

But now… now she loved him. And whenever Haldir looked into her eyes—like he was doing now from afar—it seemed that he loved her, too.

Her breath caught. Heat gathered at the crux of her thighs.

 _What is wrong with you?_ She chided herself, severing the visual connection by closing her eyes. War was coming. She had just lost her kin. And yet here she was, yearning for her companion, her dearest friend, wondering what it would be like to make love to him.

For in instant, she envisioned herself sitting astride him, their mouths nearly touching as their bodies rocked in a languid dance as old as time.

 _Mind your thoughts!_ Frustrated, she huffed a breath and turned to face the other way.

At daybreak, when it was time to leave, Haldir approached her as she was adjusting her saddle. Before he could say anything, Annalyn beat him to it. "We will part ways before long." Unable to meet his eyes, she kept on working. "I will visit your city, but my home… My home awaits me. Just as Lothlórien awaits you." Somehow, a wry little smile found its way to her mouth. "I am certain you will be glad to be amongst your brethren again."

Haldir remained silent, as though he was waiting for her to look at him. She did.

"Part we must," he said at last, his features grimmer than she had ever seen them. "But I take no joy in it."

A lump clogged her throat. Unable to endure his gaze, Annalyn promptly resumed her task, her voice strained when she said, "Let us go."

They went.

Because the silence was unbearable, Annalyn chose to practice Sindarin for most of that day. Sometimes aloud. Sometimes just in her head.

At one point, Haldir halted atop a hill. A moment later, Annalyn pulled rein beside him.

His eyes were alight, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Lothlórien," he said with quiet pride. "Do you see it?"

Staring off into the distance, Annalyn squinted in hopes of seeing his beloved woods, but the land looked all the same to her eyes—a rolling carpet of greens and greys with the occasional patch of barley gold. The temperature had been mild these past few days. If indeed it had snowed here, it had long since melted away.

"If only I had your eyes," she lamented on a half-smile. "The woods are much too far for me to see."

"Come." Haldir was moving again, his feet light and swift.

After their long and tiring journey, it was heartening to know they were almost there, and yet their impending arrival brought mixed feelings to Annalyn. Haldir wanted to show her his home, and she wanted to see it, but tarrying there overlong… that she could not do.

Annalyn needed to go home, she had to warn the Eorlingas of the threat that might seek to encroach upon their lands. Not only that, but she needed to break the news of Aldin's passing to Erna, the young woman he had hoped to marry, a woman who had loved him in turn.

And so they journeyed onward. All told, it was an uneventful day. But as late afternoon gave way to early evening, Annalyn noticed an aching stiffness in her hands. At first, she blamed it on holding the reins all day. But testing her fingers, she noted the same thing in her wrist. Not just one, but both. By the time they made camp, on the grassy banks of a dry creek bed, all of her joints were hurting.

Deciding it was nothing, Annalyn saw to Cobalt, then went about making a fire. Because the dried-up creek was nestled between two ridges, they reckoned it was a safe enough spot. But by the time she had prepared her nightly pot of herbal tea, her head was pounding, too.

"Are you alright?" Of course, little escaped Haldir's notice—and she had been rubbing her temples.

"I am just weary from all that riding." She hoped it was true.

Annalyn didn't even finish her tea that night. Wanting nothing more than to lie down, she had just settled in to sleep when a dull ache settled in her stomach.

 _It will pass_ , she kept telling herself and willed it to be true. _By tomorrow morning, you will be fine._ She and Haldir would resume their journey, and they would soon reach Lothlórien.

But that dull ache soon turned to outright pain—a sharp stabbing feeling just above her navel. Not only that, but her headache intensified, the throbbing heightened every time she breathed or moved a little.

No. This was most definitely not weariness. _What is wrong with me?_

Thinking back to the last few days, an image flashed in her mind—that of a dead pheasant floating in a foul pool.

But she hadn't touched the water. She hadn't drunk from it either.

Or did she?

With a growing sense of alarm, Annalyn remembered the stream from which she had filled her waterskin. Its source was unknown to her, but what if it was connected to that pool—it was spring-fed after all. That water had to spill out at one point; it had to go somewhere. And in her haste to get out of there, Annalyn hadn't thought to look.

The notion that she had swallowed dirty Troll water was sickening. Before long, roiling nausea washed over her, and her stomach contracted. Annalyn gagged and rolled. Crawling on hands and knees, she made it only far enough to clear her blanket before retching her guts up.

Between her heaving, and the wet sounds of vomit hitting the ground, she heard her name. Haldir had rushed over. "You have fallen ill," he said, stating the obvious with what she thought was mild panic.

With clenched eyes and gritted teeth, Annalyn warned him away by raising a hand and holding it there. She took a few gulping breaths, but her now empty stomach heaved again. She was helpless to stop it.

 _No, no, no, no_.

Weak and trembling, Annalyn pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, and waited. Her stomach was beginning to calm—thank the fates—but the inside of her body felt like a roaring hearth. For a mercy, her sweat speckled skin helped in that regard. But soon, the cooling sensation turned to outright cold. Moving away from the mess, Annalyn spit off to the side .

"I think I made a mistake." Her voice was hoarse from all that vomiting. "Remember that Troll pond? What if it was connected to that stream? The one I drank from."

Seeing the concern—no, the fear—in Haldir's eyes, Annalyn grabbed her blanket again. On shaky legs, she went to sit against a large boulder. When Haldir offered his waterskin—at least his wasn't tainted—she accepted it with a faint nod of gratitude.

In all truthfulness, she was sick of this, in every sense of the word. Barring a few exceptions, the past few weeks had been nothing short of a nightmare. Despite her desire to craft her own fate, her path was riddled with misfortune, and things kept happening _to_ her. There was helplessness in that, no better than a leaf borne upon the wind, and she hated that feeling, that loss of control.

"Great." A mere rasp, delivered as the back of her head came to rest against the boulder. "Just great."

* * *

Annalyn had not spoken in a while. Not that he blamed her. The night had been taxing. She had vomited a few more times. Luckily, the nausea had subsided shortly before daybreak. The current set of her eyes, however, hinted at a lingering headache. That being said, Annalyn kept insisting she was fine, that it was nothing and it would pass. And so, shortly after dawn, she had gathered her things, climbed in the saddle, and set off, saying, "Are you coming?"

Despite her exhaustion, it seemed her focus had not flagged. Not that it ever did.

"Those clouds seem like ill-news," she remarked sometime after midday, as they proceeded beneath an increasingly dreary sky. Before long, the rains made their return. "And so it begins again." A sigh and she donned her hood with trembling fingers.

For a mercy, the water did not freeze upon the earth this time. Still, it was not pleasant, especially for Annalyn who was not impervious to miserable weather.

"It will be better in Lothlórien," Haldir promised as they skirted along the now murky waters of a stream—a tributary of the River Celebrant. As he followed Cobalt's pace, Haldir explained that the rains were never this intense in the Golden Wood. The cleansing drizzles never lasted very long either.

"I remember." Annalyn's features were drawn, yet she smiled anyway. "How about that cordial?" she inquired with guarded hope, speaking of the warming drink he had given her on her first night in the Golden Wood. "Do you think the patrols might spare some?"

Now it was his turn to give a faint smile. "I outrank them. I shall make certain they do."

"The perquisites of knowing a commander," she teased.

"Marchwarden," Haldir countered in a rare jest.

Her smirk remained. "I stand corrected." Alas her mirth soon gave way to annoyance as her body tensed with what he guessed was a wave of pain. Eyes closed, Annalyn breathed through it for a moment.

He frowned. "We might have something for that also." Well, the healers might.

Though it pained him to admit it, the journey had taken its toll on Annalyn. Worried by the possibility that she had drunk from a fouled water source, Haldir searched his mind for ways to help her. Wounds he could treat, the same for bone breaks and burns. But illness? He was at a loss, to be honest, for Elves did not sicken in this fashion.

Hopefully, whatever ailed her would pass sooner rather than later. If not, the healers of Lórien might know what to do.

Soaked through and through, they continued in the rain. Because of her discomfort, Annalyn had slowed their pace somewhat. At present, Cobalt was walking at a mere plod, his hooves thumping on the wet ground.

His eyes trained southward, Haldir noted that the elven forest was closer now. _Home_ , he thought, his heart stirring at the sight. Yet, the joy of their upcoming arrival was tainted by a growing disquiet. His worried gaze slid toward his companion who was clearly in a weakened state.

The afternoon proved miserable. Their only consolation was the food Haldir stumbled upon—a meager meal if ever there was one, a cool-season plant commonly referred to as winterweed. When Annalyn managed to keep it down, Haldir thought it might be a good sign. But with every passing league, he saw her shoulders sag more and more, the swaying motion of her body growing increasingly pronounced.

By now, Haldir was concerned enough to consider climbing in the saddle behind her. About to make the suggestion, he glanced at her sideways, and saw the rapid blinking of her eyelids, as though darkness had begun to creep into her sight. " _Daro_ ," he called to Cobalt, and reached for the reins as the horse came to a halt.

"What are you doing?" Annalyn asked and raised the leather strap so Haldir couldn't reach it.

"You cannot go on like this," Haldir stated, his brows creasing in a hard stare. "You are about to fall off your horse."

"I am not," she scoffed, her tired reply holding a definite edge.

"We are taking a rest," he commanded more than asked.

"I am fine!" But then she blinked again, her eyes lacking focus as she shook her head. "On second thought. Perhaps a brief rest."

Annalyn was trying to hide it, but as she dismounted, he saw how her legs shook. Not wanting her to fall, he stayed close by. It was a good thing, too, for she stumbled forward all of a sudden.

His hands immediately at her waist, Haldir called her name just as her eyes rolled back. Then she crumbled into his arms.

Fear seized him. Her limbs were slack. Her head lolled to the side. Cradling her in his arms, Haldir gently lowered her, laying her head on his thigh as he knelt. Eyes frantically sweeping her face, he said her name again, louder this time. His stomach twisted in alarm when he felt the side of her cheek.

She was burning up.

"Wha…" Annalyn was coming to, a fragile form shivering beneath her sodden cloak.

As he leaned over her, his heart hammering in his chest, Haldir framed her cheek, wondered what he should do.

Rain was coursing down his forehead, his drenched hair curtaining both their faces, when she stirred in his arms, struggled to lift her head. "Cobalt. Is he?"

"He is here. He will not wander away." As Haldir adjusted his hold, she tried to sit, but was too weak to do so. Her breathing was ragged, her rain-dappled cheeks flushed with fevered heat.

Looking up, Haldir saw that Cobalt was lingering nearby. Saying his name, he beckoned the animal to come closer. As was the way with Elves, there was no need to tether the horse. "Understand, you cannot wander away this time," Haldir said in elvish. "She will fret."

Thus, secure in the knowledge that Cobalt would remain at their side, he looked to Annalyn once more, saw that her teeth were chattering, her irises partially hidden beneath her rain-spiked lashes.

"I fainted?" Her voice was thin, but her query caused him to smile, albeit faintly.

"Yes, you stubborn fool." Annalyn had called him the very same thing once. Though if memory served, she had also used the word "honourable" somewhere. By the dim smile she gave, Haldir knew she remembered.

Haldir was not a healer, but he knew a life-threatening fever when he saw one. Glancing up, he searched for a sheltered place from which he could further assess her condition. "Hold on." Spotting a copse of spruce trees, he lifted her up. On the ground near the mightiest tree, the carpet of needles was only slightly damp, the overhanging boughs thick enough to keep the worst of the rain at bay.

As he set Annalyn down, she winced a little, and he asked if she was in pain. The fact that she nodded said much about her current state. "Can you tell me where?"

"I… All over?"

"You should have told me," Haldir chided, but softly, before lapsing into a short silence. Her eyelids fell heavily. Knowing he had to do something, and quickly, Haldir searched his memory, then roused her. "The _gearwe_ ," he began. As a soldier, he had often seen it used on the battlefield, for in a poultice the plant could stem the flow of bleeding and prevent the fouling of wounds. But in a tea…

"Can it reduce a fever?" Haldir believed it could, but he was not entirely certain.

Annalyn seemed to think on it for a moment, and while the fever could have easily clouded her knowledge, he thought he saw clarity in her eyes. "If steeped… yes."

It was a risk, but he chose to trust her words. To trust her. "Rest for a moment. I shall not be long."

Haldir rose at once to look for firewood. Everything was wet, though. Too wet as it turns out.

" _Amarth faeg!_ " he cursed when his efforts proved fruitless. The fire would not catch. He was only wasting time.

Knowing he had to rein in his emotions, Haldir took a few calming breaths before turning to Annalyn once again. "We are not remaining here." In one fluid motion, he scooped her up, and made for Cobalt.

When she moaned in pain and confusion, the sound ending in a whimper, Haldir swallowed his fear, and said, "There will be medicine in Lothlórien. We shall make it there. You shall see."

Carefully, he hoisted her up side-saddle, before mounting up behind her. As the rain continued to batter them, Haldir reached for the reins, and framed her with his arms.

"Run, my friend." Channelling his focus, he then spurred the horse into a thundering gallop. "She needs healing."

This would be the final leg, he knew. A race that would not stop until they had reached the distant woods on the horizon. Lothlórien. Annalyn's only chance.

* * *

Haldir rode hard. Eyes on the looming outline in the distance.

Night had long since fallen, and the rains had ceased. The clouds had receded to reveal a sky full of stars, below which stood the woods he knew better than any place on earth. Lothlórien. Home. With every league, the familiar forest grew larger and larger. Soon it filled his entire field of vision.

"We are almost there." Speaking over the pounding of hooves, Haldir briefly bent his gaze on Annalyn. Her eyes were partly closed and she was trembling. Her face was nestled in the crook of his neck. The strength had left her arms, but she somehow held to him. Just as he held to her.

As for Cobalt, the horse was lathered, but his strong legs never faltered. His hooves beat furiously on the muddy ground.

This wasn't how he had imagined it, their return to Lórien. But then, there was much about this journey that hadn't gone as planned. "Hold on," he kept telling her, begging.

Riding as fast as the horse would carry them, Haldir surveyed the approaching woods. By altering their course and leaving the Anduin behind, not only had they saved time, but their path had kept them away from the eastern fences. The trees up ahead were part of the northern marches. An area he commanded.

They were almost there now. And while he could not yet see them, Haldir knew they were there. The Galadhrim.

"Almost there, my friend," Haldir said to Cobalt, using elvish words. The horse had done well, had borne them here at great speed. But he was nearly spent, would have to rest soon.

At long last, upon reaching the eaves of the woods, Haldir drew rein, and slowed before entering.

To an outsider, the starlit forest would have appeared still and empty. But it never was. Knowing exactly where to look, Haldir glanced up, and spotted them immediately. Clad in their cloaks, the sentries peered down from the boughs, watching with concern and curiosity as their Marchwarden returned with a barely conscious woman in his arms.

Most stood in stunned silence. Some speculated quietly amongst themselves. Regardless of their reaction, however, each bowed their heads in greeting and respect.

"Haldir!" The familiar voice rang through the forest, shattering the calm. It was Orophin, his arms and feet moving swiftly as he made his way down a ladder made of rope. Rúmil was not far behind.

Prior to leaving the Golden Wood, Haldir had left Orophin in charge of the fences, a task for which he was more than suited. At present, both of his brothers seemed relieved to see him, but their eyes soon fixed onto Annalyn.

"What befell her?" Orophin asked as he neared.

"It is a long story." Now was not the time to tell it. "She needs medicine. Something to break a fever."

A frown marring his forehead, Orophin swept his gaze over her. Noting the dampness of her cloak, he called to the sentinels overhead, ordering them to fetch a skin and a spare cloak.

Grateful for his brother's swift action, Haldir turned his attention to Rúmil, asked him to look in the saddle-pack. "There is a plant," he explained. " _Gearwe_. You should find a pot and a tinderbox as well. " Once his youngest brother had retrieved the items, Haldir explained that the leaves needed to be brewed. "See it done."

There were a thousand questions in Rúmil's eyes, but he withheld them. "Certainly." And off he went.

Spotting a grassy patch between the trees, Haldir nudged the horse forward, but not so fast that Orophin couldn't follow. "The tea might help, but I sense it will not be enough. She needs a healer." Lowering his voice, he confided in his brother. "I would take her to the city at once." _With or without permission_ , he conveyed with nothing but a look.

The move was brash and highly unusual, given their laws, but to his credit Orophin did not try to dissuade him. Rather, he nodded gravely. "Ithriel shall know what to do."

Haldir took heart at that, for Orophin's wife was incredibly skilled in the healing arts. She also had experience in treating mortals, something few in these woods could claim.

Caught in delirium, Annalyn stirred in his arms, mumbled what he thought was his name. His gut twisting in worry, Haldir channelled his focus. "Your feet are swift," he told Orophin. "Run to the river. Alert the patrols on either side. Have someone waiting for us when we get there."

With winter now upon them, the river would be impassable, the frigid water too swift and deep, even at the hidden shoal. In order to cross, they would have to leave Cobalt behind, and use a rope. It was the only way.

Inclining his head, Orophin was about to set out when Haldir spoke once more. "I may encounter difficulty." _Erynion…_ "Should I be delayed—"

But his brother already knew what he was going to say. "You need not worry. I shall make for the city and fetch Ithriel myself." With that, Orophin inclined his head. But as he turned to leave, he paused, glanced over his shoulder. "It is good to see you again, brother."

Mirroring Orophin's sentiment, Haldir nodded in turn. "Likewise."

"Haldir." A familiar voice from the trees. Looking up, he saw Ninael, a trusted and experienced member of the northern patrol. Third in his chain of command she, too, sometimes watched over the border, assuming the role of warden when Haldir and Orophin took their leave in the city. "Do you require aid?" she asked, her sable hair dark against the starry sky.

"My brothers are lending a hand," he assured her, and saw that she was accompanied by two of their sentinels: Celegon and his brother Celondir. "I must make for the city. I trust you can handle things whilst I am gone."

"Certainly." Her confidence was reassuring, her next words devoid of all judgement. "May fortune be upon your friend." And with that, she turned, commanding the other sentinels to follow her.

Though it _seemed_ endless, it wasn't that long before Rúmil returned, a round silver flask in his hand.

"I boiled the leaves as you said, and I left the others to extinguish the flames. Here."

Keeping a careful hold on Annalyn, Haldir dismounted, and gave the lead to his brother. Then, with the flask in his possession, he carried her at the foot of a mallorn. "Can you sit?" he inquired softly.

She was weak and barely coherent, but she somehow managed to sit against the trunk. Haldir unstoppered the flask, made certain its contents weren't scalding hot before holding it to her lips. "Easy," he said when she coughed. Trying again, he watched her take a first sip, then another. "It should help." _Should_ being the operative word, he wondered if it actually would.

"Where are her kin?" Rúmil sounded troubled.

As glad as he was to see his brother again, Haldir had neither the time nor the desire to answer his queries. Not now at any rate. "Slain," was all he said.

Unable to drink anymore, Annalyn turned her head to the side.

A sentinel approached just then, bearing a skin and a neatly folded cloak. Wordlessly, Haldir turned to Annalyn, removed the damp outer layers of her clothing, and made the switch. "The horse needs to rest," he said once he had finished. "But she cannot linger here."

Schooling his features, Haldir instructed the sentinel to tend to the horse. "Unless we've already crossed the river, bring him to me once he is rested. Otherwise, head east and see that he is brought to the Naith." Luckily there were barges near to the city. It would be a simple thing to get the horse over the river.

"Understood."

"Come with me," Haldir said to his brother, then gathered Annalyn in his arms.

Only once they were underway did he look to Rúmil once again. "Did anything of note occur in my absence?" As fretful as he was, Haldir had not forgotten his responsibilities. Indeed, a shift in attention was a welcome thing at that moment, if only to quell the unthinkable scenario that was now coursing through his mind. _What if she dies?_ _Out here, in my arms_ …

"There were several Orc incursions," his brother supplied as they hurried among the trees. "We dealt with them swiftly."

"Any losses on our side?"

"None."

 _At least one bit of good news_.

But Rúmil had more to report. "Orcs have been filing into Moria every few nights or so. By our estimation, their ranks have swelled by a thousand at the least."

This news stirred bitter memories for Haldir, echoes of a tragic night, over a millennium ago.

Rúmil went on. "Reports from the eastern marches indicate that the same is occurring in Mirkwood. Erynion believes the Orcs are amassing in Dol Guldur."

Dol Guldur. The barren stronghold formerly known as _Amon Lanc_. For the past few months, a dark cloud had been seen hovering over it.

Without question, threats were gathering all around. Like a lonely isle, Lothlórien was surrounded by a sea of foes. _And more are coming_.

"Haldir?" It was Annalyn, her voice a mere rasp.

For a moment, he thought she was speaking lucidly. But a glance told him otherwise. She was mumbling, caught in what appeared to be a fever-dream. Time was of the essence. And unless she saw a healer soon, he feared she might never wake at all.

* * *

"Hail!" Dawn had broken, and they had already crossed the river by way of a rope when Erynion's voice echoed through the trees.

As the russet-haired warden came into view, waving from afar, he called again. "Haldir!"

Tightening his jaw, Haldir spared him a glance, but did not halt. Neither did Rúmil, who remained, grim and silent, by his side. As for Annalyn, her limbs were slack, her cheek pressed against Haldir's chest. The shortness of her breathing was worrying. So was the wheezing cough that would seize her every now and again.

"Haldir, wait!"

"Will you look after her for a moment?" Looking to Rúmil, Haldir set Annalyn down against a soft, grassy incline, and started toward the approaching warden.

"I was told you had returned," this one said as he neared.

"What are you doing here, Erynion?"

"She is hurt?"

"She fell ill," Haldir answered curtly, for he had no desire to linger here, or explain.

Erynion cast a curious look toward Annalyn. "I trust you have sent for a healer?"

Time was fleeting, but he answered anyway. "Orophin has gone to fetch Ithriel."

"Yet you are leading her to the city." A statement rather than a question. But then, Erynion already knew this. It was the reason he was here.

"I am. Now if that is all—" Haldir was already half-turned, but Erynion grasped his arm.

"Wait."

Forcing his features into a guarded expression, Haldir faced his fellow warden once more. He was roiling on the inside, though, gripped with nigh overwhelming distress. "Your attention should be on the southern border. Not here."

"I am concerned for you, Haldir. This is unlike you. First you allow outsiders to cross the River Celebrant, and now you return with—"

"She is a friend," he countered firmly. "I owe her my life, and I shall not risk hers by waiting out here."

"We are wardens, Haldir. Or have you forgotten? And is it not you who says that we are not masters of the law? That we cannot set it aside when—"

"There is a difference between being cautious and pitiless!" Haldir's voice rose unexpectedly, his heart thundering in his chest. "Since when have we become the latter?"

Anger flashed in Erynion's eyes. His nostrils flared. "I am not pitiless, but merely pointing out that there are other ways. Ithriel should not be long now."

Though the leaves were completely still, the sound of a whispering wind arose, drawing their attention.

 _She may pass_. The susurrous words seeped into their minds, into their hearts, the voice grave and low, unmistakable.

Lady Galadriel had seen and spoken, sending her thoughts from leagues away.

Releasing the breath he hadn't known he had been holding, Haldir looked to his fellow warden again, saw the change in him. His face a mask of contrition, Erynion merely lowered his head.

As Haldir returned to Annalyn, scooping her up once more, his fellow warden said his name.

"For what it is worth,"—Erynion looked genuinely contrite—"I hope she lives."

Having nothing more to say, Haldir turned in the direction of Caras Galadhon, and stalked off with Rúmil at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Amarth faeg! - "Evil fate!"


	31. If My Heart Should Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I need to thank all my readers, those who have clicked kudos or are following the story. And of course my amazing reviewers. Words cannot express how much I appreciate your comments.

CHAPTER XXXI

IF MY HEART SHOULD BREAK

Annalyn felt like she was partly submerged, the waking world ebbing and flowing amid the strange and distorted dreams she had been having.

She _had_ to be dreaming. That or she was hallucinating. Presently, she was caught in a slow-moving eddy, her senses filled with the beating of wings, with the sight of birds, wings spread wide as they wheeled around her. But then, little by little, the birds faded away, revealing a silent forest.

It was a muffled sort of quiet, like she was floating in a clear pool, face-up, with her ears beneath the waterline. She wasn't floating, though, was nowhere near water—at least, as far as she could tell. It was disorienting and odd and… _Not possible_. She tried to clear her vision.

Her eyes were certainly cheating her, for out in the distance, walking silently amongst the trees were her mother and father.

They were watching her, kindness and compassion writ clear in their eyes. Oh how she had missed their faces. Her heart twisting in her chest, Annalyn watched them for a moment longer, until they, too, began to fade. _Do not go_ , she wanted to say, but knew it was pointless.

Confused as she was, Annalyn knew she was seeing things, and was not well at all. _Is this how it is,_ she wondered, _when you are about to die?_

She was cold, right down to her bones. But warmth also touched her face. Dappled light, she realised, from the sun. A weak cough, a slow blink, and she saw leaves. Golden leaves. She was swaying. No, not swaying. She was being moved.

" _Noro_." A strange word, spoken in a voice she knew, the sound rumbling against her ear, which was pressed against something smooth but firm, warm. Not a pillow, not her pack, but someone's shoulder.

With effort, Annalyn lifted her eyes. Her vision was out of focus. Still, she deciphered a few things: a lock of golden hair, the angular line of a jaw, an ear, the rim of which was delicately pointed. The sight, combined with the familiar scent of cloves and cedar, increased her awareness, loosening his name from the murky depths of mind.

Haldir.

Warm reassurance bloomed within her being, partially clearing her fevered confusion. She remembered—some of it at least. He had been carrying her for what seemed like many leagues now, for she had fallen ill, and was too weak to stand.

" _Goston athen_ ," he was saying to someone, with an urgency that matched the haste with which he was carrying her. " _Noro Rúmil_."

Rúmil. Annalyn knew that name. Slowly turning her head, she caught a glimpse of Haldir's companion—someone with long golden hair, and a profile that hinted at a youthful face. It took a moment, but things began falling into place. _His brother_. But before she could fully make sense of all that was going on around her, a deep throbbing rattled her skull, blinding her with pain.

What had befallen her? Her entire body ached, her head pounding with such intensity, she tasted bile at the back of her throat.

"Haldir!" A woman's voice suddenly cut through the pain, pulling her to the here and now. Annalyn opened her eyes, just a slit.

People were speaking, the exchange too fast and too strange for her to follow.

When her head fell back, Annalyn realised she was being set down, the ground soft beneath her frame. The woman—an Elf—moved into her field of vision, but her words were for Haldir. " _Ma i eneth dîn?_ "

"Annalyn," he answered, continuing in the language she knew. "Annalyn is her name."

The elf-woman knelt by her side, her eyes assessing and grave. She was fair, with light blue eyes and hair that seemed even lighter than Haldir's. Silver almost. "Annalyn. My name is Ithriel," she said softly, in the common tongue. "I am a healer, and I have come to help you."

Setting herself to purpose, the elf-woman lifted Annalyn's head just enough to pour a small amount of strong-tasting medicine between her lips.

The liquid had barely made its way down her throat when Annalyn felt herself lifted once more. Head lolling to the side, she noted that Haldir was no longer carrying her. Instead, he stood beside the litter onto which she had been laid, his grave features subtly betraying his concern.

 _No_ … She could not be parted from him, not when he had been by her side for so long. Alas, before she could say anything or reach out to him, the medicine grabbed hold of her, dulling her senses and pulling her into forgetful sleep.

When next she awoke, Annalyn saw streaks of pink overhead, and a gradient sky of deep, deep purple. Dusk? The litter was still moving, its bearers marching with quick but soundless steps. To her left was a wall of green, beyond which stood trees so tall, they seemed to commune with the heavens. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Annalyn thought she saw a bridge, then a gate adorned with lamps that had yet to be lit. As it opened soundlessly, someone spoke softly. "We have arrived." It was Haldir, his eyes bent upon her as he matched the litter's pace.

Though she felt short of breath, her body aching from head to toe, Annalyn was relieved to see him, held his gaze for as long as she could.

Passing through the gate, they soon turned aside. Fighting against the heaviness of her eyelids, Annalyn looked at the imposing trees below which she was being carried, disbelieving their heights until they were blocked from her sight by a roof of some sort. White fabric, she guessed. A pavilion?

As the litter was set down, Annalyn noted the hurried but quiet bustle around her. The elf-woman—what was her name again?—was giving instructions to people she did not recognize. Elves.

Eyes searching for Haldir, she saw him just as he was being ushered out. But as he backed away, guided by a gentle hand to his shoulder, he looked in her direction, his fretful eyes finding hers just as a curtain was drawn, separating them.

* * *

Haldir had not glanced at his brothers in a long moment, not since he had noted their eyes on him, no doubt seeing through the figurative mask he wore. Rúmil and Orophin would discern his inner turmoil, he knew, if they hadn't already. _They know me too well_. Better than anyone, if truth be told.

Feeling oddly exposed, Haldir turned from them, and made for a nearby fountain, where he looked upon the starlit water without really seeing.

Annalyn was lying in that pavilion, fighting for her life, and all he could do was stand here and wait. It seemed endless, his mind supplying an outcome he would rather not entertain. If she succumbed to this, if he had looked his last upon the light in her eyes, and the smile he loved so—

 _You must cease this_.

As Marchwarden, it was oft necessary to project an air of calm and detachment, to keep a tight hold over his emotions, no matter the circumstances. Difficult though it currently seemed, Haldir sought to do exactly that, if only to gain control over himself, and smother the unthinkable and devastating outcome he had just conjured.

Annalyn was _not_ going to die. Not on this night. Not for many years. She was going to fight, tooth and nail, like she always did.

"Haldir."

He spun around at once, seeing Ithriel's inscrutable face through the pavilion's threshold. A nudge of her head spurred his feet across the lamp-lit path of ancient stone and grass. The other healers were stepping out at this point, leaving only Ithriel.

"Your friend is resting, and will not wake for some time," she told him once they had slipped inside. "I should warn you, her illness has not yet run its course."

His stomach dropped. "Can you not cure her?"

"A chance," Ithriel replied. "That is all I can give her. But to cure her of this ailment, that I cannot do." A pause ensued. "Nay, the best we can hope for is to manage her fever, which was dreadfully high when first I saw her, and perhaps shorten her illness. Weakened though she is, your friend must fight."

"She will." His tone was resolute, his jaw flexing as he looked to Annalyn's slumbering form. But as Ithriel crossed the space, hand reaching for the cloth that lay upon Annalyn's brow, Haldir voiced a question. "Why?"

Ithriel met his gaze. He clarified. "Why did she fall ill in this fashion?"

His best guess was the nasty water she had swallowed. But his question went beyond the obvious.

"She is mortal, Haldir." A simple answer. And a painful one. "Mortals are wont to sicken in this fashion. The reasons can be numerous. It is not always clear why." As Haldir's heart turned to rubble in his chest, Ithriel dipped the cloth in a bowl of water, wrung it out, and placed it upon Annalyn's brow once more. "Prior to reaching the city, you mentioned a foul pond. That she might have ingested water that issued from it."

He nodded.

Ithriel straightened, pursed her lips, and folded her arms on a sigh. Haldir could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. "If it harboured some sort of pestilence," she mused aloud, "it would certainly explain it. Clearly she is suffering from some sort of ague." As if to ease his turmoil, Ithriel leveled an earnest gaze at him. "You did well by bringing her here. I do not believe she would have survived otherwise."

With a gentle motion, she adjusted Annalyn's blanket. "She requires rest." Finished with her task, Orophin's wife turned and made her retreat. "You may stay a moment if you wish. I shall wait outside."

As the curtain fell shut, sealing them from the outside world, Haldir approached Annalyn's bedside, and sat in the chair that had been placed there. For the first time since reaching the Golden Wood, he hung his head and allowed the walls to fall. Anguish strained his features. Drawing a trembling breath, he reached for her hand, cradling it in both of his, then looked to her.

"Fight." A whisper, a plea, uttered as he mapped the contours of her face, committing them to eternal memory. " _Live_."

Ah, but it gutted him to see her like this, to know there was a chance she might never wake again.

Unable to leave just yet, he lingered, staying longer than he probably should. But as he finally persuaded himself to leave, rising on an grief-stricken breath, Haldir found he could not yet turn away. Heart over reason, he suddenly found himself leaning forward, eyelids falling heavily as he deposited a heartfelt kiss to her brow.

* * *

Night had scarcely begun to wane when Haldir received the summons, dutifully delivered by an Elf-Warden of the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim.

Though it pained him to leave the vicinity of the healers' pavilion, Haldir had neither forgotten nor forsaken his duty. Long he had served, first as scout and sentry, now as Marchwarden, a position he held with grave solemnity and focus.

Yet tonight, he felt scattered, his heart in turmoil, his thoughts divided.

As he scaled the great spiral staircase, passing numerous arches and numerous lamps, Haldir thought of Annalyn, and the promise Ithriel had made upon his leaving. " _Should there be any change,_ " she had said to him, with earnestness in her eyes. " _I shall send for you at once. I give you my word._ "

So it was that he had taken his leave, and was now making for the highest and fairest dwelling in all of Lothlórien.

It loomed now, seeming ever larger with each of his steps. Pure light spilled from its many arches and doorways, illuminating the surrounding _mallyrn_ and their mighty silver limbs.

Upon reaching the wide stairs at the entrance to the dwelling, Haldir passed the silent sentries posted on either side. Elf-wardens who had been serving the Lord and the Lady for thousands of years.

" _Hiril vuin_." Haldir bowed to Lady Galadriel, before turning to Lord Celeborn, and greeting him in turn. " _Hîr vuin_."

"You have returned," Galadriel said.

Now that he stood in the Lady's presence, Haldir felt her keenly in his mind, as a brush of wind laden with grave and ancient wisdom. Doubtless she had perceived his thoughts long before he had reached the city.

Inclining her head, Lady Galadriel greeted him. "Welcome, Haldir."

"We know much of what you have seen," Celeborn said without preamble, his clear voice echoing on high ceilings and circular walls. "Yet we would have you tell us in your own words."

Nodding in acquiescence, Haldir recounted what he had seen, describing the army of Orcs and their preparations for war. "When last I saw the encampment," he went on to say, "the Orcs numbered three thousand at the least. I fear their numbers might have grown since then."

"Scouts we have sent, in many directions," Celeborn stated gravely. "All have said the same. Fell creatures are amassing, readying for war."

So it was as he had feared.

As a temperate breeze swirled into the room, the Lord and the Lady exchanged a look, a silent agreement seeming to pass between them.

Without a word, Galadriel rose and turned, her bare feet carrying her toward a tall open-air archway overlooking the great city in the trees and its myriad of twinkling lights. "The world is facing great peril, the likes of which has not been seen for thousands of years."

Haldir had sensed this for a good while now, a foreboding that was felt by many of his kindred. Rumour had spread amongst the Elves of late, hushed supposition regarding a nameless but impending threat.

"It is time you knew." The gravity of her tone was disquieting, a foreshadowing of the knowledge she was about to impart. Indeed, Haldir had long suspected the Lord and the Lady knew more than they had previously revealed, but it was not his place to question their wisdom, nor their reasons.

She spun, facing him with her hands clasped in front of her. "Evil stirs in Mordor."

Haldir tensed at once, the mere mention of that cursed land enough to make his blood run cold.

"Great hosts of Orcs and Men have been seen entering its gates, their numbers growing by the day." The Lady fell silent for a moment, then, "The tower of Barad-dûr has been rebuilt."

A shudder ran through him, followed by her voice in his mind. _Sauron has returned_.

Though the Dark Lord's first reign had been before his time, Haldir knew the stories, not only from his studies, but from firsthand accounts. The world had burned in those dark days, and a great number of Elves and Men had met their doom on the blood-soaked plains of Dagorlad.

The Lady's feet carried her away from the archway overlooking the outside, a declaration leaving her lips. "The time has come for all to know. And whilst war has not yet been unleashed, we must ready our forces for the battles to come."

Celeborn leveled his gaze at Haldir. "A council shall be convened. Two days hence."

Understanding that his presence would be required, Haldir nodded, and was dismissed. But as he turned to leave, he hesitated, his boots rooted to the floor. Despite the incredibly dark tidings of this council, his thoughts had circled back to the past few days, to Annalyn's sudden illness, and the decisions he had been forced to make.

Bringing her here, his decision made well before he had been granted permission, had been unlike him in many ways. And yet—even though he had bent the law—Haldir had acted in the way that felt most right to him. To his heart.

Eyes on the wide stairs below, he debated whether to give voice to his turmoil. With all that had happened, and the darkness that was presently falling on Middle-earth, perhaps now was not the right time.

After a brief deliberation, Haldir chanced a look over his shoulder, saw that Celeborn had already slipped out of the room. Galadriel, on the other hand, seemed to be waiting, as though she had known he had more to say—which was likely, he supposed.

Haldir approached once more. "My Lady," he began, and lowered his gaze. "Concerning the woman—"

"The maid of Rohan is welcome here." Clear words that rang throughout the room. But as reassuring as they were, they did not negate the fact that he had taken great liberties of late.

Annalyn might have been dear to him, but to Lothlórien she remained an outsider. The laws had always been clear on that front. Unless the Lord and the Lady decreed otherwise, strangers were to be kept well away from the Naith.

For Annalyn's sake, Haldir had chosen to disregard that law, to make for the city, hoping—no, _expecting_ —that she would be given entry. To deny this would have been disingenuous, something he had never been. And so, here he stood, the truth laid out for the Lady to see.

As remote as the possibility seemed, had Annalyn not been granted entry… Well… Haldir had never begged for anything in his life, but he would have this time around.

"I see it," Galadriel said quietly. _I see the truth in your heart_. "You seek forgiveness where none is needed." Her features were still and serene, her eyes downcast, her chin slightly raised. "The maid of Rohan may rest here, for as long as is needed."

He loosed a breath, his voice surprisingly thick when he said, "You have my thanks."

Taking his leave—and he meant it this time—Haldir inclined his head and took to the stairs. Yet he had not taken two steps when Galadriel spoke once more, into his mind. _Do not despair._

Haldir looked to her. He waited.

 _The course of the future, whilst uncertain, is not without hope_.

Her words gladdened his troubled heart, for in addition to being wise Lady Galadriel possessed the gift of foresight, an ability that allowed her to glimpse possible outcomes for the future. Furthermore, she possessed a most unusual mirror, in which she could see many things. According to her, the visions were not definite—nothing ever was—but they rested in the realm of the possible.

There was hope for Annalyn. For the world as well. Holding to both outcomes, Haldir watched the Lady for a beat longer, and squared his shoulders.

He left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Noro – Run
> 
> * Goston athen – I fear for her
> 
> * Ma I eneth dîn? – What is her name?
> 
> * Hiril vuin – Beloved lady
> 
> * Hîr vuin – Beloved lord


	32. Kin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I want to thank all my readers and reviewers. Your continued interest is not only humbling, it's encouraging, too. THANK YOU! xox

CHAPTER XXXII

KIN

Annalyn was holding on, waging a silent battle as he sat in vigil at her bedside.

As scout and sentinel, Haldir knew what it was to wait, watching for the enemy, sometimes for days at a time. But this was another, more difficult kind of waiting. His quiet patience—deep as it ran—was slowly being drained, depleted by the sight of her suffering.

"How long?" he asked Ithriel, brows drawn in a frown. "How long will she be like this?" But Orophin's wife had no answer.

Weakened and barely conscious, Annalyn gave a wheezing cough. The white gown the healers had given her was now damp with sweat, her newly-washed skin flushed with fevered heat.

"The medicine is wearing off it would seem." Concerned for Annalyn's wellbeing, Ithriel bade him to move aside, then gently lifted her head to administer another dose. Setting the empty phial to the side, Ithriel turned to her charge once more, and began to speak softly. Ancient words. Healing words. The gentle medicine of Elves.

Gradually, after an endless moment, Annalyn ceased to stir, her limbs relaxing as both draught and incantation settled into her being. As she fell into healing sleep, Haldir resumed his vigil, and stayed all throughout the morning.

Needing to prepare more medicine, Ithriel let him be, but after a time she approached, saying, "You should go and rest." The sun was higher now, its light seeping through the canvas walls. "The medicine I gave her is quite potent. She will not wake for many hours. Perhaps not until nightfall."

"Her breathing is shallow," he remarked.

"It is." A sigh of agreement, the sound blending with the delicate scrape of pestle and mortar. "Her lungs have yet to clear." Adding more herbs, Ithriel proceeded to crush them into a paste, releasing a fresh but pungent scent. Finished with her task, she then leaned over the bed, and placed a hand on Annalyn's brow. "She does not feel as warm as before."

"Is her fever breaking?"

"Mayhap." Ithriel straightened, but seemed uncertain. "But the medicine may be acting as a mask. Only time will tell."

Holding to quiet hope, Haldir looked to Annalyn once more. Though he maintained a tight hold on his emotions, he felt Ithriel's gaze on him. Much like his brothers last night, she had been quietly observing him all morning, no doubt wondering what their story was. "She was travelling with you?"

Haldir nodded but did not look away from Annalyn. "For nigh on a month," he answered as memories began to surface—overlapping images of her, marching, riding, fighting, her chestnut braid slicing the air in time with her sword. Then a softer recollection—Annalyn smiling at him, the light of their campfire dotting her hazel eyes.

"I found her when her company was waylaid by Orcs." Though spoken softly, that last word left the bitterest taste in his mouth, flashes of blood, metal, and cruelty cascading in his thoughts. "The others did not survive."

"Her kin?"

Haldir thought of Feran, the kind and aging man who had led the company. And of Aldin, his son. Good men, the both of them. "Yes."

"That is quite sad."

There was movement outside. Haldir glanced up to see Orophin standing by the open curtain. His gaze went first to his wife, warming as she acknowledged him, but then, looking to Haldir, his features became more subdued. "Any change?"

When Haldir shook his head, Ithriel went to Orophin. "Your brother needs to go home." She spoke in whispers. "He has not eaten, nor has he taken any rest."

She meant well, but Haldir pinned her with a stare nonetheless. "You know I can hear you quite clearly from here."

Orophin took a few steps forward. "That may be so, but Ithriel is correct in this. Save for the council, you have not left here since your return to the city."

"She is in good hands, Haldir," Ithriel assured him.

He knew this. He did. But the idea of leaving, even for a short while, struck an anxious chord in him, one he promptly sought to hide, even from these two.

"Very well." It wasn't so much a concession as a need to walk and breathe, to shake the quiet fear that gripped him still. Mouth set in a line, Haldir rose, hand brushing Annalyn's arm as he turned toward his kin. "Send for me at once if there is any change."

Ithriel nodded to him as another healer entered the pavilion, a silver ewer in one hand, a folded gown in the other.

Thus it was that Haldir left the healers to their craft, grabbing his bow and exiting the pavilion while Orophin stayed behind.

Despite the airy beauty of the city around him, he felt trapped, as if enclosed in a tight space. Despite his kin's concerns, he could not go home just yet.

Haldir needed space. He needed to move, to expel the nervous tension that was coiled in the pit of his stomach. And so he prowled on, hurrying along smooth paths and stone steps. Honestly, he hadn't known where he was going until he was there.

The Galadhrim's training yard was empty, the turf shaded by fluttering leaves. His gaze straying beyond the trees, Haldir saw two soldiers in the distance, their features sad and solemn as they conversed quietly by the armoury. When they noticed him, each bowed their heads in acknowledgement and respect, but they did not approach.

A gloom hung about them. He understood why.

The bliss of Lórien had been disturbed this day. Shortly before daybreak, when the last star had faded from view, Lady Galadriel had spoken to all, her grave words echoing in the hearts and minds of all who dwelt here.

 _The world is changed, threatened by darkness risen once more. Many have felt it. A few amongst you have known it. But now the hour has come for all to know… Sauron, the Enemy of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, has returned_.

Haldir, who had been standing outside the pavilion at the time, had seen his brothers' blanching faces. A glance toward the entrance had revealed Ithriel's haunted features.

His back pressed to a _mallorn_ , Haldir had lifted his eyes to the golden leaves above. He had thought that hearing the news would have been easier the second time around. But he had thought wrong.

With a blank stare, he had listened as the Lady spoke of hope, of the light that yet remained, here in Lothlórien, as well as in other lands, and in the hearts of those who would do good in this world. _A fading world_ , he had thought to himself, before looking to the pavilion once again, glimpsing the fevered features of the woman who lay within. A mortal woman who had roused his immortal heart.

Returning to the present, Haldir set his bow and quiver against the empty weapons rack. At the center of the training yard, he breathed in deep, sank into his thoughts, and unsheathed his sword.

As he lunged and spun, Haldir imagined a ring of fell creatures, each nastier than the last. One by one, he slew them all, grimacing in anger.

For indeed, he was angry. Angry that he had not reached Annalyn and her kin in time that night. Angry that he had not been able to save Feran, or find Aldin. Angry that he had waited so long to race towards Lothlórien when Annalyn had first fallen ill. He was even angry at the world, angry because it was fading.

In a violent dance of steel, he twisted and drove his sword forward. _You think wrong_ , he amended and spun yet again. _The world is not to blame_. A corrupted Maia was. Sauron. And before him Morgoth, the disgraced Vala who had unleashed so much of the evils in this world.

But even as he admitted this, Haldir knew that he had not reached the bottom of his anger, that there was more to what he currently felt.

Annalyn was mortal. She was mortal and he was not. She would die regardless, if not today then one day. And if she did survive her illness, _she will leave_. She would make for Rohan, to live amongst her people. It was better that way.

_You must let her go.  
_

His sword fell on a downstroke.

_She is mortal._

It was utterly unjust.

Haldir leapt, the painful truth repeating over and over in his mind. _She is mortal. She is mortal._ When he landed, he rolled, found his stance and immediately swung his blade in a two-handed grip, severing the head of an imaginary foe. Again and again he swung his sword, and did not stop until he was spent, his thoughts emptied.

At last, he straightened and stood there, breathing hard. A rare drop of sweat dripped from his brow, catching the light as it fell to the grass.

The sun had already begun its slow descent by then. How long had he been out here?

Sheathing his sword, Haldir inhaled deeply, and felt a change come over him, a peace born out of exertion. It would fade, he knew, but then imaginary hordes were infinite. He could face them anytime he wished, or needed to.

Ready to leave at last, Haldir fetched his bow and got underway. With all that had happened, he had neither bathed nor changed his clothing since arriving in Caras Galadhon. It was high time.

Intent on hurrying home, he was halfway to his dwelling when the sound of his name made him turn. Orophin was approaching, passing in the shadow of a mallorn. For a moment, Haldir thought Ithriel might have sent him, but he soon realised that was not the case.

"I see you are finally heading home," Orophin remarked as he caught up to him. "May I walk with you?"

In all honesty, Haldir was not in the mood for company, but he relented anyway, with a nod.

At first, the two walked in silence, but then Orophin spoke, "The maid of Rohan—" And there it was. Haldir had known that his brother would ask about her at some point. Trying not to show his turmoil, he readied himself for whatever Orophin was going to say, or ask.

"She is dear to you."

His heart clenched painfully in his chest.

His brother was observant, always had been. But while Orophin had guessed right, Haldir did not easily speak of such things.

"Annalyn is kind and brave." A deflection, the only confession he felt comfortable making at this time. "She has endured much and does not deserve what has befallen her."

Orophin merely regarded him as they walked. Thankfully, he refrained from asking any more questions. At least for the time being.

They marched onward, their feet silent against stone as they finally took to the stairs. Carved into a hill of lush turf and ancient roots, the staircase led to a large stone terrace edged with statues, fruit trees, and elegant balustrades.

The smell of baking bread floated in the air, for a dwelling stood nearby, with adjacent kitchens that served all those who dwelt in the mallorn above—the same mallorn Haldir and his brothers called home.

"Bestedir and Glirwen learned of your return," Orophin said of the wedded pair who spent most of their days in the kitchens, not because they were obligated to, but because food was their craft, deeply-loved and eagerly shared. "I am told they have prepared something for you."

Haldir appreciated the gesture, alas he had no desire to eat at the moment. "Perhaps later." His heart a dull weight in his chest, he slowed, and approached the balustrade on one side of the terrace.

As Orophin came to stand beside him, Haldir surveyed the sloping hill below, his gaze slowly rising to take in the footbridges linking the dwellings in the trees. Caras Galadhon. If he was honest, he had wanted Annalyn to see it, had thought they might stroll the city at night, when the lamp-lit forest was at its most beautiful. _She would have loved it_ , he thought. But now… Would she even see it?

Needing respite from his thoughts, Haldir squared his shoulders, speaking not as Orophin's brother but as Marchwarden. "With the current state of the world, Lothlórien has need of its sentinels. I trust you and Rúmil are departing in the morning?"—to make for the marches and resume their duties.

"Indeed."

Haldir was heartened to hear it. Under normal circumstances, he would have accompanied them, but not this time. Not for a few days at least. "I shall not be going with you tomorrow. The Lord and the Lady have convened a council. I am to attend."

"I thought they might. The realm needs to prepare for what is to come." A shadow of worry crossed Orophin's features. When it passed, he nodded once, saying, "We shall look for your return."

Moving away from the balustrade, Haldir made for the ascending staircase at the northern end of the terrace, his brother by his side.

Following it, they climbed the tree that had always been their home. Though not the mightiest, the stair-wrapped mallorn was a towering refuge, taller than most of the trees nearby. Passing small dwellings along the way, the brothers proceeded toward the great tree limbs beneath the crown.

At length, Rúmil's home came into view. Similar to Haldir's, it was smaller than Orophin's, but no less beautiful. Passing before it, they noticed a familiar figure, walking aimlessly on the _talan_ outside.

Much like the soldiers outside the armoury, Rúmil seemed pensive and saddened.

This had been a dark day indeed—for all the Elves—the news of Sauron's return more distressing than aught they had imagined.

Seeing his youngest brother from afar, and the pensiveness that was also lurking in Orophin's eyes, Haldir felt a growing niggle of guilt. He had been so absorbed by his own turmoil that he had not been there for them today, not in the way a brother, or Marchwarden, should.

"Come," he told Orophin, and saw the question in his eyes. When he realised Haldir's intent, the middle brother smiled in gratitude, and followed.

And so the three gathered in the light of the setting sun.

"It is good to see you, brother," Rúmil said as Haldir clasped his arm in greeting, his other hand landing heavily upon his shoulder.

"I should have come sooner," Haldir said, and meant it. "It has been a wretched day for everyone."

"A part of me cannot believe the news." Rúmil lowered his eyes. "Or perhaps I simply do not wish to believe. Sauron…" A shudder went through him. He looked to Haldir. "I hear you found an Orc camp. Is it true there are many more out there?"

"I wish it was not so, but alas... it is true."

"We always knew this day might come." Orophin sighed.

"It is long since we have met like this," Rúmil said. "The three of us. Here. I have just the thing for it." With that, he disappeared into his home, saying he would return presently.

In the gathering dusk, Haldir and Orophin waited for their brother. Movement netting their attention, they looked to see Rúmil emerging from the dwelling. As he made his way over, he produced a bottle from the folds of his cloak. And not just any bottle, but the wine they normally reserved for feasts.

"With all that has come to pass…" Rúmil smiled wanly as he neared. "I thought we might share it."

Producing three narrow glasses, he handed them out, and began pouring.

Their glasses filled, the brothers formed a loose circle. Eyes in a faraway gaze, Rúmil raised his glass ever so slightly, his tone uncommonly glum when he said, "To the world."

 _And what shall remain of it_ , Haldir couldn't help but think, but did not say it aloud.

It was strange. Though he had initially craved solitude, he was actually glad to be with his brothers. Metaphorically speaking, they formed what he felt were three pillars of a roof. They had borne the weight of many sorrows throughout the years—from the death of their parents, to losses suffered on the battlefield. Out on the marches, they fought side by side, oft defending each other. So long as they had one another to lean on, they would not fall. At least that was Haldir's belief, and his hope.

Taking a swallow, he considered them both. So different were they.

Begotten exactly thirty years after Haldir, Orophin was probably the most tender-hearted of the three. The compassionate one, as their mother had called him. Unfailingly kind and respectful, he was perceptive and inquisitive. A little too inquisitive at times, especially toward Haldir, whom their mother had always referred to as the brave but mysterious one.

Rúmil, by comparison, was the most outspoken of the three, a wild spirit, with a quick smile and a swift mind. Oft dubbed "the little wanderer", he had been something of a handful growing up. How many times had he and Orophin gone to look for him as a child? Haldir could not remember. At any rate, it was beyond count.

They had loved him though, exasperating as he had been at times. But Rúmil had grown, had gained wisdom and maturity, just like they had. And now, all these years later, they proudly served together on the marches, their contrasting personalities balancing each other out, forming what many felt was a formidable patrol.

Twilight was fast approaching, the shadows growing longer as the sun dove into the west. Having drained their glasses, the brothers rose to say good night.

"I shall come by in the morning," Orophin was saying to Rúmil as they calmly strode across the _talan_. "We could march to the border together."

"I would like that."

"Rest well," Orophin said, but Rúmil sighed.

"Alas, I do not think I will find rest this night." As he walked, Rúmil told them that he was thinking of heading down to the armoury, where most of the off-duty soldiers had gathered following the news. "Will you come?" he asked them.

Orophin seemed to consider it for a moment. "I do not think Ithriel will come home this night. I will go."

"Haldir?" Rúmil was looking at him.

Normally, Haldir would have gone, no question. But this time…

"In a while perhaps. First, I must change and look in on Annalyn."

His youngest brother nodded, but something flickered in his eyes, and was gone before Haldir could decipher what it was. "I shall see you later, then." On these words, Rúmil continued toward the spiral staircase, Orophin following in his wake.

As he watched them leave, Haldir noted that the kindling of the lamps had begun. One by one, they began to glow. Most were the colour of starlight, but some were gold and green. Soon, their light would fill this peaceful fortress of trees, lending an ethereal glow to the ancient city.

Resuming the climb, Haldir passed in front Orophin's dwelling—the one they had lived in as children—then proceeded toward his own. Situated on an opposing tree-limb, he had to leave the staircase and follow a footbridge in order to reach it.

Compared to many dwellings, his was not very large, but it suited him, providing a quiet retreat when he was not on the marches. In truth, he was rather attached to it, hence the reason he had chosen not to reside in his parents' dwelling following their passing. Him being the oldest, it would have been his by rights. But he had felt that Orophin, who had been newly-wed at the time, would have made better use of it. And he had.

Haldir reached his home at last. No sooner had he walked in than a note caught his eye, the folded paper contrasting against the dark wooden grain of his desk. Setting his bow and quiver by the door, he crossed the space, removing his sword-belt as he went, and picked it up.

_I asked the chamber maid to fill your bath, and since I suspect you have not eaten, I had food brought up also._

_Welcome home, dear brother, and rest well._

_Ithriel_

Chuckling softly to himself, Haldir shook his head and folded the note. Ever since Ithriel had wed Orophin, she had become something of a doting sister to him, and to Rúmil as well. It was in her nature, he supposed. She lived to care for others.

Turning from his desk, he considered the food that had been laid out on his small table. He had yet to find his appetite, but he made an effort. Ignoring the main course, he inspected a tray of pastries, chose one at random, and wolfed it down. Wasting no time, he made for the curving staircase hugging the northern wall, and climbed to the room above. Overlooking the rest of the dwelling, his bedroom had a sheer drop on one side, and a small balcony on the other. In many ways, it was like a flet, but indoors.

Aside from a wooden cupboard, a chair, and a bed, the upper level did not contain very many things. But then, this was where he came to rest, to lie or sit while he dreamed.

A brief perusal of his wardrobe and he chose a fresh set of clothing. Having gathered all he needed, Haldir made his way down the stairs, through the main living area, and out onto the lower balcony out back. Larger than the one upstairs, it spanned the length of the dwelling, providing a wide view of the woods to the east. On the northern end of the platform was a leaf-shaped section with a lattice roof and elegant wooden partitions that allowed for privacy.

There, he found that the bath had been filled with scented water. Curls of steam could be seen rising from it. When he finally eased himself into the soothingly hot bath, Haldir felt all tension leave his muscles. Chest rising on a sigh, he tilted his head back into the water, then sat back up.

Regardless of how nice it felt, his ablutions were hurried, but efficient. Once he had dried himself, Haldir quickly donned his clothes—simple garb of black and grey, much like he wore on the marches. Then, once he had re-braided his hair, he retrieved then fastened his sword-belt, and was on his way to see Annalyn.

He arrived just as Ithriel was exiting the pavilion, her silver hair almost white in the light of the lamps. Upon seeing him, she started in his direction. "She sleeps still." Her glance toward the entrance told him he could go inside.

Entering, he saw that Annalyn was not alone. Another healer was quietly working in the corner, looking over various phials and herbs. Noting his approach, the healer decided to give them a moment. As she left, Haldir spared her a glance, but soon turned his attention to Annalyn. Indeed, she was asleep. Her gown had been swapped for another, he noted, the neckline slightly different than her previous one. Looking to her face, he saw that her cheeks were flushed, but that sweat no longer speckled her brow—a good sign hopefully.

"I am here," he said quietly, though it was doubtful she could hear him. _I cannot help you, but I am here_.

It is strange what can happen in a moment, how a single thought can birth another. As he stood there, eyes on her slumbering face, a thought suddenly came to him. Haldir was not a healer; he could not cure her of this ailment. But he was a soldier, a Marchwarden of Lothlórien. He _could_ help Annalyn in other ways. And he would.

Secure in the knowledge that she was being well cared for, Haldir quietly left her side, nodding to Ithriel as he made for the path leading to the center of the city, purpose guiding his every step.

By the time he returned, sometime in the middle of the night, permission had been sought and granted, the proper arrangements made. His heart the lighter for it, Haldir neared the pavilion once again.

Ithriel came into view first, through the entrance, and when she saw him, her face broke into a smile. "There you are. I was just going to summon you."

His heart sped up at her words, and so did his feet. Crossing the threshold, he looked to the bed. A part of him already knew what he would see. "Annalyn?" He stopped in his tracks.

She was awake, _awake_ , sitting on the bed with her legs dangling off to the side. Hands braced on either side of her, Annalyn glanced toward the entrance with slight confusion. But when she saw him, the uncertainty in her face ebbed away, replaced instead by a smile, joyous and heartfelt. "Haldir," she breathed.

It was the most heartwarming sound he had ever heard.


	33. Waking in the Land of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Sorry I haven't had time to reply to your latest reviews, but know that they made my week. Thanks goes out to all who have been following this story so far. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.

CHAPTER XXXIII

WAKING IN THE LAND OF DREAMS

"It is good to see you awake," the elf-woman said in the common tongue.

Her voice was soft and familiar. Annalyn knew she had heard it before, in a dream, or a half-waking moment. _Or both?_

"How are you feeling?" the elf-woman inquired gently.

Annalyn swallowed, but her eyes remained on Haldir. "I do not know."

Presently, he stood just inside the threshold, relief showing on his otherwise unreadable features. Though he had yet to say anything—anything other than her name that is—she could tell he was glad to see her. Perhaps as glad as she was to see him.

Upon waking, Annalyn had felt so lost and disoriented, her surroundings completely unknown to her. But when Haldir had rushed in and halted… When their eyes had locked…

Remembering the elf-woman's query, Annalyn broke the visual connection, blinked a few times. "Well," she started, looking down to assess herself. Glancing back up, she exhaled. "It is strange. I feel as though I have just awakened from the longest and strangest dream. I feel,"—her gaze settled on Haldir once more—"surprisingly good."

At her words, the corner of his mouth pulled just so.

As fragmented memories began falling into place, Annalyn finally looked to the elf-woman. She was tall and fair, with hair the colour of starlight. "Ithriel. That is your name, is it not?"

The elf-woman smiled. "Indeed, it is."

It was coming back to her now—well, some of it was.

Ithriel was a healer. Kind of face and calm in manner, she had been caring for her these past few days. _Or has it been longer than that?_ Annalyn could not say.

Spurred by a growing desire to stretch her legs and gain her feet, she rose—or at least she tried to. The world lurched a little, and she had to brace herself on the edge of the bed. No sooner had her palm met the bedding than a bracing hand grasped her elbow.

"Easy." Having traversed the space in the blinking of an eye, Haldir searched her face, his features betraying concern.

It took a moment, but the world righted itself. Once Annalyn was sitting again, Ithriel assessed her briefly. "Haldir is right," she said. "You have been ill for many days. You will require a great deal of rest. In the meantime,"—reaching for a small phial, she placed it in Annalyn's hand—"drink this. It should help."

The draught had a strong but fresh taste to it. As it made its way down her throat, Annalyn felt a small measure of strength return to her limbs.

"You have not eaten in a while," Ithriel remarked at length, hands fluffing an extra pillow so Annalyn could sit comfortably in bed, a feather-bed no less. "I will see that food is brought. Fruit perhaps, or a light broth."

"Thank you," Annalyn replied, her voice still somewhat hoarse from lack of use.

Ithriel straightened and made to leave. "I shall return shortly."

Thus it was that Annalyn and Haldir were left alone.

"So," she said at length, smiling a tired little smile at her companion who now sat in the chair at her bedside. "Once again, I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing," he assured her quietly, his features softer than she had ever seen them.

"The day I fainted, you told me that we would reach Lothlórien." Lifting her gaze to the canvas roof, Annalyn listened for a moment. The sound was faint but she could hear it nonetheless—beautiful elven voices raised in song. "You spoke truly." She sighed on an extended blink. "We are here."

When Haldir remained silent, blue eyes guarded but kind, Annalyn shifted against her pillow, and regarded him for a moment. "I remember you know. Some of it." _Riding in the rain. The two of us reaching the forest_. Her heart fluttered then, in gratitude and something else. _You carrying me_.

As broken memories slowly came together, she remembered that he had carried her over a river while balancing on a rope. She guessed it was the Silverlode.

Eyes straying toward the open entrance, Annalyn saw that it was night still. Even so, it was not completely dark outside. Rather, the grass-covered ground was bathed in a blue-white glow, similar to starlight, but more vivid somehow.

She must have been staring, because Haldir soon spoke. "Would you like to see?"

Her eyes finding his, Annalyn's heart lifted. She breathed her answer. "Very much so."

Given what had happened when she had tried to stand earlier, Haldir helped her to her feet this time. Holding to her arm, he made certain she felt steady before starting for the entrance. Slowly and carefully, they crossed the space.

When they finally stepped out into the night, Annalyn looked up and out, and gasped. _Gracious me_ … Her voice had fled. But then, there were no words to describe the awe-inspiring beauty around her.

Her mouth hanging open, Annalyn slowly turned on the spot, and tried to take it all in. The tallest and most beautiful trees she had ever seen, with _dwellings_ in them, and stairs, and footbridges. And lights! Silver and gold and green. So many of them…

" _This_ is where you live?" was all she managed to say.

Looking to Haldir, she saw the quiet pride on his features, the deep and unwavering love for this place, his home. She understood then—or perhaps it was merely confirmation—that he lived and breathed for this city, that he guarded it not because he had to, but because it meant the world to him.

"Caras Galadhon," he said, looking all around. "The heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter was super short. The next one will be longer (around 5500 words I think). It should be ready by this weekend.


	34. On the Outside Looking In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I need to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read this story. As always, a special shout-out goes to my reviewers. Since this week was pretty busy, I didn't have time to reply to each of you. But know that your comments totally made my week. I cannot thank you enough.

CHAPTER XXXIV

ON THE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN

The white curtains had been pulled aside, revealing the tallest, most ancient trees she had ever seen. Sitting in a chair, near the entrance, Annalyn swept her gaze over her surroundings. Though her face was shaded by the canvas roof, the afternoon sun was low enough to warm her arms, her hands, even her bare feet as they peeked out from beneath the beautifully woven blanket Ithriel had draped over her legs.

Lothlórien was a remarkable place indeed, calming and otherworldly, a veritable balm for weary souls. As Annalyn slowly recuperated her strength, in the white pavilion provided by the Elves, she felt a remarkable sense of comfort, as if a blanket of peace had been laid over her recent sorrows.

It was hard to describe, but time seemed different in this place, the hours blending together in a fluid and tranquil stream, easing her weariness, lulling her thoughts.

" _Have rest here_. _Evil cannot enter this place_ ," Haldir had said to her the other night, adding that she could stay for as long as she needed, that the Lady herself had said as much. It was very kind of them, she thought, somehow knowing what a privilege it was.

As a temperate breeze swept by, stirring her hair and kissing her face, Annalyn breathed in deep, and couldn't help but wonder how many mortals had had the privilege to see what she was seeing now. Not very many, she reckoned, at least no one she knew or had heard of.

Her gaze flitting from one mallorn to the next, Annalyn marvelled at the elegant structures and footbridges that were strewn throughout, at the beautiful spiral staircases that seemed to go on forever.

Despite the vastness of this city, and the thousands of souls who apparently lived within it, it was incredibly quiet here, with only a few Elves strolling about. Presently, only two were visible. Tall and graceful figures in the distance, elf-women with long flowing dresses, their leisurely footsteps falling in tandem.

As she watched them from afar, Annalyn noted how the air was warmer than it should have been this time of year, the city somehow untouched by winter. It made her wonder about the power in this place. How else could such a remarkable forest exist?

Setting this unanswerable question aside, she tilted her face upward, and shut her eyes. After lying in bed for so long, it felt nice to be sitting here, listening to the whispering leaves. _Leaves,_ she marvelled. In winter.

Relaxed and content, she listened to their fluttery sighs for a while. As time trickled by, however, Annalyn felt a faint but growing discomfort in her chest. It was to be expected, Ithriel had said, for the medicine could only do so much for so long. Unable to suppress a cough, Annalyn brought a fist to her mouth. When her fit finally subsided, she saw that the healer had left her work table, and was making her way over.

Stopping by a small serving cart, Ithriel grabbed a silver pitcher and began pouring water into a goblet. "Here. This should help."

After a few soothing sips, Annalyn returned the half-emptied goblet, then watched as the beautiful Elf fetched a chair and set it beside hers. Angling her body in her direction, Ithriel asked if she could examine her for a moment. Annalyn acquiesced.

"All seems well," the healer concluded at length, checking for paleness in the lining of her eyes. Lowering her hands, she went on, "But should your discomfort prove too much, you need but tell me and I shall give you a draught for the pain." Indeed, her abdominal muscles were quite sore from all that coughing. "If you wish, I could even prepare some now."

"That is very kind of you, but..." Annalyn shook her head.

Elvish medicine was effective, highly so, but some of the draughts were potent enough to send her into a deep, deep sleep. And she had slept enough of late.

"You are certain?" Ithriel asked.

In lieu of answering, Annalyn set the blanket aside, braced her hands on either side of the chair, then pushed herself up. "To tell the truth, I would not mind stretching my legs."

Rising, Ithriel made to assist her, but Annalyn waved a hand. Her legs were not exactly steady, but she could stand unaided—she wanted to—even if her head spun a little at first. When the initial shakiness subsided, she took a few steps toward the nearby fountain, Ithriel matching her cautious pace. Hands on her lower back, Annalyn arched her spine, breathed a small laugh, and gazed up at the sky, her body thanking her with every stretch and every step.

"Your strength returns," Ithriel remarked and was not wrong. "You are quite resilient."

"That or merely obstinate."

The two shared a mirthful look. But then, Annalyn's smile faded somewhat. "I need to get well." Her gaze went to the trees, but her thoughts turned to home. "As grateful as I am for your aid, and as beautiful as it is here, I must return to Rohan." _To warn my people_ , she thought. _To tell Erna…_ The latter would be the hardest, she knew. Breaking the news of Aldin's death, seeing the grief in the young woman's eyes… _How will I bear it?_

Aldin had loved Erna dearly, so much so that he had been planning to ask for her hand. It would have been a good match, for Erna loved him in turn. Deeply at that. Annalyn had seen it and known. Everyone had.

Without question, the news of his death would be devastating to the young woman—the shattered dream of a life never to be lived.

Annalyn and Ithriel passed by the fountain in silence, their feet whispering against the grass. But as they proceeded a little farther, their steps slow and measured, Ithriel broke through Annalyn's thoughts. "Did Haldir mention when he might return?"

A light shrug. "He could not say." As much as she enjoyed and longed for his company, Annalyn understood and could not begrudge him. As Marchwarden, Haldir had important duties to attend to, duties he could not ignore. That said, he always made it a point to check in on her whenever he could, spending most, if not all, of his spare time at her side.

Annalyn appreciated it more than he knew, for solitude was not always easy, even in a place such as this. The loss of her kin had gouged a wound that would take a long time to heal, if it ever did. As silence reasserted itself, her thoughts turned inward even more, to the heartbreak she still felt.

Though Annalyn did not intend it, her sorrow must have shown. "Haldir spoke of your loss," Ithriel confessed at length, her words barely above a breath. "I was sorry to hear it."

Grateful for the sentiment, but not knowing what to say, Annalyn nodded in thanks. To be honest, the loss of her kin was not something she could easily speak of, especially with someone she barely knew. The weight of it was too great, and could not be entrusted to just anyone.

The last time Annalyn had openly spoken of her loss, and how devastated she was, it had opened a floodgate of emotion, and then an unexpected door. That night by the river, when she had shared her grief with Haldir, and ultimately broken down, he had been so incredibly kind to her—listening when needed, offering advice when she had asked, giving her space to weep, then crafting a bed of boughs so she could sleep that night. It had touched her heart. So much so that she had kissed him.

Things had become infinitely more complicated after that. The push and pull of fear, caution, and constantly evolving feelings between one who was mortal and one who was not. Still, despite the emotional difficulty, the two had maintained a closeness that meant the world to her. A woman of Rohan and a warden of Lórien. Unlikely friends, she thought, ignoring the useless longing that yet lingered in her heart.

The two walked onwards, but not very far, for Annalyn had grown weary. Turning back, they were nearing the pavilion when an elf-woman came by, bearing a pitcher as well as a generous platter of food. Unlike Ithriel, her hair was a deep shade of brown, her velvet dress a midnight blue.

Like most of the Elves Annalyn had seen thus far—except for Ithriel and Haldir that is—the Elf was quiet around her. Curiosity shone in her eyes, but she seemed reluctant also, as though she did not quite know what to make of the mortal woman who had been brought in their midst.

Presently, the Elf stopped by the small dining table outside the pavilion, casting a timid look in their direction as she set her burden down, and walked away without a word.

Annalyn sighed.

"Please do not think us cold," Ithriel said once the elf-woman had gone. "You must understand, Lothlórien is quite secluded, and few amongst us travel abroad. Likewise, it is long since a mortal has passed through our gates. Some of those who were begotten here have never even seen your kindred. Not with their own eyes."

Annalyn smiled a little at that. "But you have." A reasonable assumption, given that Ithriel could speak the common tongue when very few Elves could.

"I have. Long ago." The healer smiled in turn, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, warm yet sad at the same time. Clearly, there was a story there, but Ithriel did not tell it, and Annalyn did not ask.

Returning from wherever her thoughts had taken her, the healer blinked a few times, indicated the dining table nearby. "Your meal awaits. I hope it will be to your liking. I requested a more diverse selection this time."

As one would expect of the Elves, the meal was laid out beautifully—an assortment of fresh greens and cheeses, with a serving of the savory broth Annalyn had grown to love. A small basket of bread sat near to it, as did a plate of pastries, baked to golden perfection, and dripping with honey. As if that wasn't plentiful enough, a bowl of berries had been laid out as well, along with a tall glass containing what she guessed was juice pressed from a fruit.

"This more than suffices," Annalyn said, and wondered how she was going to consume all of this.

Though she only ate half, the fare was incredibly delicious, each mouthful better than the last. When Annalyn had eaten her fill, the elf-woman returned, but unlike earlier, she actually spoke this time, timidly uttering what Annalyn believed was a question. Requiring translation, she looked to Ithriel, who was working nearby.

"She is asking if the meal was to your liking."

"Oh." Annalyn inclined her head. "Yes, it was quite good."

The Elf apparently understood. Though her manner was reserved, her features brightened a little. She began clearing away the dishes.

"What is your name?" Annalyn asked in Sindarin.

The serving-maid halted, as if taken aback. But then, her posture relaxed somewhat. She smiled a little and said, "Glirwen."

Annalyn echoed the name. When she used the words Haldir had taught her to introduce herself in turn, Glirwen smiled more fully, and replied in Elvish. This time, Annalyn actually understood, " _I am happy to meet you_ ," and it lightened her heart. Not only that, but the brief exchange was refreshing, if somewhat overdue.

As courteous and hospitable as they were, the Elves were not exactly sociable either—at least not with Annalyn. For days, she had felt like something of an oddity, someone the Elves stared at from afar but seldom spoke to. But as she had just demonstrated to herself, it did not have to be that way. Sometimes, all it took was someone willing to take the first step.

"You are learning elvish," Ithriel remarked once Glirwen had gone.

Annalyn pushed herself away from the table, and slowly gained her feet. "I have begun to, yes. Haldir has been teaching me."

"Indeed." Ithriel smiled in delight, but her expression suggested that she was surprised as well. "He seems very fond of you."

"We have become unlikely friends," Annalyn allowed, and looked away for a moment, if only to hide the blush that had crept onto her cheeks. What Haldir felt for her, what she felt for him… it was private and complicated and so very conflicting. Yet as she entered the pavilion, passing by Ithriel's work table, Annalyn could not deny that she often thought of him, remembering those days and nights spent in his company, and wondering just how in the world she was going to say goodbye to him when the time came.

Hoping to deflect the conversation, Annalyn sat on the edge of her bed, looked to the healer once more. "I understand you are wed to his brother?"

"To Orophin, yes. You have met, I believe."

"We have met, yes. However, we have never truly spoken."

Ithriel pursed her lips. "He has never learned the common tongue, it is true." She began to sort through a small heap of freshly cut plants. "He thinks kindly of you, however."

Annalyn's mouth fell open, but she closed it again. Before now, she had never really known what Orophin had thought of her—the same for the other one, Rúmil.

In those early days, when the brothers had guided her company across the Golden Wood, the two had deferred to Haldir, doing as he commanded because he outranked them. But beneath those fair and impassive faces, who knew what they had thought of his decision, and of her? Though, judging by what Ithriel had just said, at least one of them saw her in a good light.

While she could not say why it mattered, Annalyn was gladdened by the notion, and couldn't help but wonder if the same held true with Rúmil, the youngest of the three.

As Ithriel proceeded with her medicinal task, Annalyn noted two small flowers among the heap, their petals unblemished and white. Her eyes widened. " _Simbelmynë_."

The healer seemed confused for a moment, but then she followed Annalyn's gaze. "These?" Her face brightened. "You mean _alfirin_."

The Elves might know it by a different name, but Annalyn recognized these flowers, and they were indeed _simbelmynë_.

Her weariness forgotten, she regained her feet and made for the work table. Her fingers reached for a stem. "These flowers grow in Rohan. On the burial mounds of our Kings." The evermind that bloomed in all seasons. For a moment, she went back to her childhood, to the times she had journeyed to Edoras with her mother and father. "The name you call it," Annalyn said in question.

" _Alfirin_. Long has it grown in Caras Galadhon."

"I did not know it could be used as medicine."

"Not by itself," Ithriel said. "But when crushed, the plant yields oils that are beneficial in a salve."

Annalyn studied the petals, her fingers twirling the stem. "It is strange hearing it called thusly, and even stranger seeing it here." Setting the flower down, she smiled. "But it gladdens me. A touch of home."

"You must be longing to see it again. Your village."

Her smile faded somewhat. "I am." Well, a part of her was. With her kin gone, nothing would ever be the same again. Seeing the house, walking through the door only to be greeted by stillness and silence… Her chest grew heavy at the thought, her heart twisting in renewed grief. Setting the inevitable future aside, Annalyn settled onto her bed once more, but looked up when Ithriel ventured a question.

"You are familiar with plants and flowers, are you not?" The healer reached for a pestle but spared her a glance. "Haldir said you were quite knowledgeable."

Annalyn shrugged. "I suppose. Though I am certain there is much I do not yet know."

"Lothlórien is home to a stunning collection of plants and elusive flowers. If it pleases you, I could give you a tour of the gardens once you regain your strength."

Annalyn regarded the healer for a moment, a small but genuine smile broadening on her mouth. "It would please me greatly."

Ithriel inclined her head, their conversation seemingly at an end as she resumed her work. But then, as Annalyn went to fluff her pillow, the healer went on, "Haldir will undoubtedly be needed on the marches before long. Most likely before you are well enough to leave here."

Uncertain of where she was going with this, Annalyn waited, watching as Ithriel muddled the herbs.

"Whilst he is gone, if you wish to learn more Elvish…" The healer glanced up again, and her eyes were sparkling. "I shall teach you if you like."

* * *

It was late, and he arrived to find that the pavilion's curtains had been left open, allowing a temperate breeze to feather against the sheets and the woman who lay among them.

With silent footsteps, Haldir went no further than the sprinkling fountain nearby. Bathed in the gentle sounds of night, he gazed at Annalyn from afar. _She sleeps_. The sight gladdened him, for she needed the rest, yet as he looked upon her his smile turned rueful, sad.

A few months ago, if someone had told him that he would befriend a mortal woman, that he would grow to harbour a profound and growing affection for her, Haldir would not have believed it. But he had. He did. More than she knew.

Yet their time together was nearly at a close. As soon as she was able, Annalyn would make for home, to rebuild then live out her life, never to return. As he reflected on that, his mind conjuring images of what might be, his chin dipped downward, his brows knitting together until he smoothed them again.

Would she spend her life alone, he wondered. Or would she eventually meet someone and fall in love? Envisioning her with another man, Haldir felt a sudden and unwelcome pang in his chest. With a great deal of effort, he brushed the feeling aside, and turned to more selfless thoughts, to the only question that should matter in the end.

Would her life be a joyous one?

He certainly hoped it would be.

Annalyn stirred. Her face pivoted until a strand of hair fell across her mouth. Having lingered long enough, Haldir promised to return in the morning, and made a quiet retreat. Yet, as he turned, a sensation came over him, seeped into him, an awareness of sorts—a feeling of contentment and a peace that was not his own.

Looking to its source, to Annalyn, Haldir wondered not at the how, but at the why.

Like all the Elves, Haldir had an innate connection to the world around him. He knew what the surrounding trees were feeling, what the animals were thinking. But peering into the minds of his kindred and those of mortal races required a different skill-set altogether, one he had not been gifted with.

And yet, right now, Annalyn's emotions radiated outward, like a gentle wind sweeping the very edge of his mind.

Haldir had first noted it during their time on the run. Late one night, as she had slept huddled next to him, he had sensed her confusion, her fear, and he had understood that she had been having a nightmare.

Stunned and befuddled, he had marvelled at the connection, but then he had debated what to do. After all, Haldir had not meant to pry into her mind in this fashion, nor did he wish to. But the bridge was there nonetheless, having formed somehow.

The connection to her slumbering mind was subtle, and disappeared altogether whenever she awoke. But when her dreams turned to nightmares, the feeling intensified. It was jarring, if truth be told. Whenever she had a nightmare, her emotions were always the same. First with an invading sense confusion, apprehension, then fear. As distressing as it was, what came next was always worse. A desolate sort of loneliness that reached into the very heart of him.

The first time he had intervened, Haldir had done so purely by accident. Pained by her torment, he had closed his eyes and silently said her name. Whether she had heard him, or merely felt his presence, Annalyn had awoken at once. She always did.

Indeed, Haldir had intervened more than once—thrice to be exact—overruling his reservations for the reason that he could not bear her torment.

Did she know, he oft wondered but was hesitant to ask—namely because he had yet to understand the exact nature of their connection, why it was there, and how to sever the link.

On more than one occasion, Haldir had tried to dismantle the bridge that had formed between them. One night, he had even gone so far as envisioning a mental barrier to shield her against this involuntary intrusion. But his efforts had been for naught and the link remained.

Thankfully, her dreams seemed peaceful now, pleasant. Thinking it was time to leave, he made it all of three steps before a sound netted his attention—the sliding of limbs against sheets.

"Haldir?"

Looking back, he saw that Annalyn was pushing herself into a seated position, a hand rising to rub the sleep from eyes.

"Forgive me," he said. "The hour is late and I should not be here. I meant not to wake you."

"No, I am happy that you're here." Though her voice was softened by sleep, her tone was genuine. Reaching for a nearby throw, she draped it over her shoulders, crossing the fabric to cover her nightgown before rising and venturing outside to meet him.

"Long day?" she guessed rightly. "How was the council?"

"I believe it was fruitful." Hands linking at his back, Haldir followed as she sat on the stone lip wreathing the fountain. As watery patterns reflected on both their faces, he watched her for a moment, noted the healthy colouring in her cheeks. "You look well."

"I feel well. Stronger than I did yesterday." Her words were as heartening as the warmth on her face.

"There was no one around when I arrived. Where is Ithriel?"

"I sent her home to rest."

Haldir arched a brow. Ithriel leaving her charge? Though he supposed the danger was now past. Thanks to Ithriel and her fellow healers, Annalyn had come a long way since the night they had carried her through the gates, barely clinging to life.

"At first, she did not wish to leave, but I insisted. Given that I have slept near an Orc camp, I believe I could manage a night in the heart of Lothlórien." Soft laughter shook her frame.

"No one would ever hurt you here." Haldir knew this with absolute certainty.

"I know," she said, and their eyes held for a beat, and then two.

"I am sorry I have not been present."

Her smile became more subdued. "You have naught to be sorry for. These are dark times, and there is much to be done."

She was not wrong in this. A tireless menace was gathering, and whether they wished it or not, Lothlórien would soon be islanded in a sea of foes. To ready their forces and achieve full strength, the council had agreed on several points today—such as doubling the watches along the borders, establishing lookouts, and dispatching scouting parties in the areas surrounding the realm. Not only that, but efforts would also be made here in the city—from soldier training to the fashioning of weapons, even the production of medicine for the front.

"The evil that is brewing," Annalyn began after a moment. "It is worse than you initially believed, is it not?"

Haldir made no reply at first, but wondered how she knew.

"I see it on your face. Something troubles you."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Am I so easy to read?"

Annalyn snorted at that. "Hardly. If anything, you can be as unyielding as a stone statue." Her mirth receded. "But then, being a warden, I suppose you need to be."

When she lapsed into silence, waiting for a response to her earlier observation, Haldir drew in a breath, and weighed his words. "The situation is deeply troubling, it is true. Worse than aught I had imagined."

"Yet you have kept it from me." Her tone was not angry per say. Nevertheless, Haldir discerned the hurt on her face, and knew he had erred. "Unless you are bound to silence," she said. "I would rather be told the truth than be kept in the dark. I am part of this world, Haldir, and not as delicate as you seem to believe."

He blinked at her words, but ultimately inclined his head. "Indeed. Forgive me. You _are_ part of this world, and as such deserve to know as much as anyone. Nevertheless, you are mistaken in your assumptions."

Puzzlement crossed her face.

"You are not weak in my eyes. Delicate in stature, perhaps,"—this rare quip earned him a playful shove—"But not of will. You have a strong heart, Annalyn of Rohan."

The hurt had faded from her features, a light blush taking its place. His heart the lighter for it, Haldir watched her for a moment. But then, his face turning grave, he asked, "In your histories, have you ever heard tell of a Dark Lord? Sauron he is called."

Unlike most mortals, the Elves had never forgotten those dark days, and the corrupted Maia who had nearly ruined the world. Granted, it had been before Haldir's time, but he had heard the stories many times, mostly from his mother and father who had lived through it firsthand. The War of the Last Alliance, when Elves and Men, under Gil-Galad and King Elendil, had united under one banner to fight for the freedom of Middle-earth. But for most mortal Men, the war was from a time out of mind—perhaps even more so for the Rohirrim who had only settled on the horse plains long after that war. A proud people they were, with a valiant history, but young in the eyes of immortal Elves.

"Sauron," Annalyn said, turning the name over on her tongue. She shook her head.

And so it was that Haldir told her of that time, of the darkness that had nearly conquered Middle-earth. As he spoke, he noted the disquiet in Annalyn's eyes, on her blanching face. When he had finished, she sat there for a long moment, absorbing the enormity of the threat that now loomed over them.

"Could our doom be upon us?" she breathed, as if to herself. At length, like it always did, resolve dawned on her features, a familiar defiance showing in her eyes. "I am not a trained a soldier. I have never ridden with the Eorlingas. Even so, I am a daughter of Rohan. Should the need arise, I will fight for my people and those I hold dear."

Hearing her words, Haldir hoped it wouldn't come to that. _Should something befall her_ … And yet, despite his worries, pride kindled in his heart, for bravery was an honourable trait. And brave she was.

Before he could frame a reply, Annalyn steered the conversation elsewhere. "I meant to ask… Cobalt."

Haldir felt his features soften. "He is being well cared for. Rest and regain your strength, and you shall be reunited shortly. I give you my word."

Reassured, Annalyn looked to the water, her lovely mouth curved into a lopsided smile. Alone with her thoughts, she drifted for a few moments. As her teeth seized her bottom lip, she started picking at her blanket. "How long?" she whispered at length. "How long before you leave for the marches?" It might have seemed like an idle question, but it was not. They both knew it.

Her eyelids lifted, then her eyes locked onto his—hazel flecked with gold. She waited.

"Five days."

"Five days." Her breathless tone betrayed her distress. He understood why.

Committed to his duty, Haldir was eager to return to the border, to oversee the preparations, and serve alongside his kindred. Yet he could not deny that a part of him longed to linger in the city, to spend time with Annalyn before she left for home.

But then, given the latest decisions taken at council, perhaps he would get that chance.

"I may be departing, but my absence will be brief," he went on to say. "I am to return within a fortnight, for I have duties in the city as well."

When she arched a brow, saying, "Oh?" Haldir explained that he had been tasked with training the reserve soldiers. "Of course it will be a joint responsibility. A rotation is being established between myself and others."

Haldir thought she would have been glad, but her features remained sad.

"A fortnight you say," Annalyn said in reference to his return from the marches. She forced a small smile, but there was no cheer in it. When next she spoke, regret laced her voice. "If circumstances were different…"

Puzzled, Haldir waited for her to say more.

"I cannot tarry here. Not for so long. I must go. I must warn my people. I trust you understand."

He did. Better than anyone. Still, much had occurred these past few days, some of which she was not even aware of.

"Five days then." Annalyn gave a single nod, averting her gaze as if to steel herself. "Five days until you leave for the marches and we say goodbye."

"What if you did not have to leave so soon?"

A pause ensued.

"What if you could stay a while longer?" he asked again, partly for selfish reasons, but also because Ithriel had cautioned Annalyn against journeying too soon. Outside of these woods, the terrain was vast and demanding, the wind incredibly cold this time of year. If Annalyn undertook the journey in a weakened state, she could easily sicken again.

"Stay for a while longer? What are you not telling me?" Her eyes had narrowed.

"I took the liberty of sending two of my best soldiers to Rohan, to meet with the Rohirrim and alert them of the gathering threat."

Annalyn's mouth was agape, her eyes widening when she said, "You did?" She hung her head for a moment. "I thank you. And the people of Rohan will thank you."

At her fervent whisper of thanks, he leaned forward to catch her eyes. "When I return in a fortnight…"

"I will be here. Perhaps not for very long, for there is a thing I must do, but I shall remain here until you return." They were merely delaying the inevitable, he knew. Still joy filled his heart, for Haldir was not ready to bid her farewell. Not just yet.

"May I ask you something?" she asked.

"By all means."

With downcast features, Annalyn skimmed her fingers over the water. "There is a young woman back home. Erna she is called. Aldin… he loved her very much. And she loved him in turn."

Haldir's heart clenched at that. By the pain on her face, he knew what she was going to say.

"She does not know. She has no idea that he is lost." Her eyelids lowered over unshed tears, her voice barely audible when she said, "How does one do it? How does one bear giving such horrible news?"

Now it was his turn to sigh. "It is no easy thing. I, myself, have never gotten used to it. Not that anyone should. When the time comes, all you can do is gather whatever strength you have, and hold to it."

Annalyn considered his words. "I suppose you are right."

Before aught else could be said, Haldir heard a sound. Footsteps, he realised. And he knew exactly whom they belonged to. "Ithriel has returned. I should go and leave you to sleep."

Annalyn nodded in agreement, and they both gained their feet. As they made their way toward the pavilion, Haldir slowed near the threshold. "The council resumes tomorrow, but I shall look in on you in the morning." Halting, they faced one another. "Before I leave for the marches, if you feel well enough, would it please you to see the city?"

Warmth suffused her features, her voice mixed with laughter when she said, "Not only would it please me, but I shall hold you to it."


	35. A Long Awaited Stroll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you goes out to all who have been reading this story so far. Your continued interest has been heartening and motivating. As always, a special shout-out goes to my reviewers. I cannot thank you enough for your kind words.

CHAPTER XXXV

A LONG AWAITED STROLL

Her clothing had been washed and mended, and the garments looked cleaner than they had in a very long time. In the privacy of her pavilion, Annalyn examined her previously torn sleeve. Whoever had repaired the garment was quite skilled, for the stitching was flawless, and left nearly no trace of the gash she had sustained in battle. Going to a nearby chair, Annalyn donned her boots, and noted that they, too, had been polished to an uncommon shine.

It wasn't that she disliked the sleeping gowns, but after so many days, it felt nice to wear functional garments again. Breeches. Her green vest and her woolen tunic. _Her_ clothes.

Dressed and ready to face the day, she stood again, but instead of heading out into the sunlit morning, Annalyn lingered in the pavilion. Drawn to her pack, she walked over, opened the flap, and peered inside. A rueful smile found its way to her mouth.

The wooden pipe felt light in her hand, the unpolished wood retaining the marks and edges of her uncle's carving knife. It seemed like ages since she had looked upon the memento, and even longer since the night she had lost her kin. _Are you at peace?_ she wondered, not for the first time.

For truth of the matter was, she asked herself this question every single day. Sometimes even in sleep, like last night, when she had dreamt of them. The same dream as before—or very near to it—with the mist and the guttering camp fire, and her loved ones standing in the distance. And just as before, they had vanished, leaving her all alone, until she wasn't anymore.

The Orcs and Wargs always found her in the end. As the creatures prowled in the mist, wreathing her in, the Orcs' vicious laughter would echo in the air. The same for the Wargs' rumbling growls. As if that wasn't terrifying enough, last night's dream had unfurled a bit more, and one of the creatures had pounced. The Warg's open maw had been inches from her face when she had awoken—again with the whispered call of her name.

It was rather baffling, if truth be told, but it was also a dream. "Just a dream," she reminded herself, then tucked the wooden pipe back into her pack.

Annalyn had fastened the flap and was about to leave when her gaze fell on her sword-belt, which someone had thought to hang on the back of a chair.

While there was nothing to fear in this place, she found herself reaching for the belt nonetheless, and debated whether to wear it. In the end, it proved an easy decision. Not only was she in need of training—for the world beyond was perilous and her journey was far from over—but she genuinely missed carrying her sword.

The quiet broken only by the soft clinks of the metal buckle, Annalyn donned her sword-belt, adjusting the prong until the weapon hung comfortably at her hip. It was strange, but just the weight of it made her feel like her old self again. With a lopsided smile, she placed a hand on the protruding hilt, out of habit mostly, and nodded in approval before heading outside. The pose reminded her of Haldir in a way; for he, too, tended to do that when he walked.

A smile ghosting on her lips, Annalyn thought of their plans for today, and how they were going to tour the city together. Since Haldir had business in the armoury, and wouldn't arrive for another little while, she thought she might pass the time in her own way, on her own terms. On a grassy patch, just out of view of the pavilion, Annalyn drew her sword, holding it in front of her before slicing the air in smooth, winding arcs.

It was hard to explain, but the balance combined with the blade's familiar weight was oddly comforting to her; her sword that had saved her hide more than once; a gift from her father; a reminder of where she came from and all she had been through. Inanimate, yes. But something of a friend nonetheless.

As she trained, taking care with her initial movements, Annalyn felt a growing sense of exhilaration. Granted, her joints were stiff. Nevertheless, it felt good to move around like this, to enjoy her newly returned strength. For indeed, she was feeling much better—not quite at full strength, but close enough.

It was high time, too. Ever since she had awoken in that pavilion, nigh on six days ago, Annalyn had done very little except to rest and heal. And while Ithriel seemed more than happy to keep her company, idleness was idleness. It had never been her strong suit. Sensing this, the healer had taken it upon herself to continue with Annalyn's lessons, instructing her not only in Sindarin, but in herbal lore as well.

Of those two things, the latter proved easiest, for Annalyn had always been fascinated with plants. Learning the elven tongue, however…

A most beautiful language, Sindarin was by no means easy to learn. But Annalyn didn't mind. The challenge was the best part, if she was honest. For instead of pondering her woes, her thoughts were often occupied with the strange, velvety words she was trying to memorise.

"There you are. I was wondering where you were hiding."

Annalyn had just pivoted on a lateral stroke when the healer's voice pierced through her concentration. Though a small part of her lamented the timing, Annalyn was not annoyed per say. She liked Ithriel. Like most healers, the Elf was nurturing, if not altruistic at times. But beyond that, she was inquisitive and welcoming, showing a genuine interest in others, including those who were not of her kind. To be sure, Annalyn's days could have been dreadfully dull had it not been for her.

Annalyn sheathed her sword, breathing hard. "I was not hiding, merely stretching. My limbs have grown stiff, I cannot sit all day."

Ithriel, who now stood on the edge of the clearing, pursed her lips in a failed attempt at concealing a smile. "Nay, but what you might do is overexert yourself. You are going for a stroll today, are you not?"

"I am." With Haldir. And she was looking forward to it, too. "But I am well enough to manage both."

Ithriel crossed her slender arms, the flowing sleeves of her dress nearly translucent in the morning sun. "If you say so."

"I know so," Annalyn boasted good-naturedly, and made her way over.

As the two fell into step, heading toward the pavilion, Ithriel glanced sidelong at her. "Your health has improved, it is true." A light shrug followed by a conciliatory smile. "Perhaps you are well enough to do as you like, without a healer hovering about."

As the pavilion came into view, so did the nearby fountain, its gurgling waters just audible over the sound of fluttering leaves.

"Your sword," Ithriel continued at length. "You seem to wield it well."

"I am no soldier of great deeds, but I can fend for myself." As most women of the Mark could. "Do you fight?"

Ithriel lifted a hand. "Nay." Her mirth receded, but her demeanour remained soft. "I preserve life. I do not take it."

"What of fell creatures? Surely, you would not spare an Orc if your own life depended on it."

To her surprise, Ithriel actually gave it some thought. "Stated thusly, perhaps not."

_Perhaps?_

"But I would not pick up a blade unless I was forced to." As she walked, Ithriel explained that there were two schools of thought among the Elves. Some were both warriors and healers—and highly skilled healers at that. But others, like Ithriel, believed that the act killing diminished one's healing power.

"I understand," Annalyn said, then countered, "Though, I for one would not hesitate. To save myself or those I love." It was not even a question. "The world has fallen into a dark place. We might not wish it, but there are times when one has no other choice. To slay or be slain."

"Haldir said that you were brave."

Her cheeks coloured at the praise.

"He is vigilant by nature, you know. As such, he can be a harsh judge of character. It is no easy feat to befriend him."

Annalyn was uncertain how to respond to that.

"That he sees goodness in you says much about who you are."

"Thus," Annalyn replied, drawing out the word. "If I am to understand, you see goodness in me for the reason that he does?" Her confusion remained, but amusement pulled at her mouth anyway.

"At first," Ithriel answered candidly. "But now I see it clearly for myself. You may call me friend if you wish, for that is how I see you now."

Friends. To tell the truth, Annalyn did not have very many of those. It had a nice ring to it, though. She returned the healer's smile. "I would like that very much."

Delight shone in Ithriel's eyes, until she looked ahead and spotted something in the distance. Not something, Annalyn amended, but someone. Warmth suddenly blossomed in her being.

"Here so soon?" Ithriel shared a conspiratorial look with Annalyn before calling out to Haldir. "I thought you were needed at the armoury this morning."

"I did go to the armoury, but I was able to get away sooner than I thought." Dappled light danced upon his hair and shoulders. As he approached, Haldir acknowledged them both but addressed Annalyn. "I trust you are well enough for our stroll?"

Excitement grew within her, but Annalyn schooled her features and assured him that she was well before turning to Ithriel. "I shall see you this evening?"

Ithriel nodded, but opened the small pouch that hung on her hip. Producing a glass phial, she placed it in Annalyn's hand. "There are many paths and stairs in Caras Galadhon. Should you grow weary, drink this. It will give you strength." With that, she waved a hand. Her features warmed when she said, "Now go. Enjoy yourselves." To Haldir, she warned, "As for you, make certain she takes some rest along the way."

When Haldir nodded in agreement, Ithriel made a quiet but triumphant retreat, her long gown whispering against the turf as she walked.

"Are you in readiness to leave?" he asked once Ithriel had gone.

Annalyn swept her arm to the side. In Elvish, she said, "Lead the way."

A gleam flashed in his deep blue eyes. When he replied, he did so in the elven tongue. "I see you have been practicing."

"Ithriel has been teaching me." Annalyn spoke haltingly, then reverted to Westron. "She is most patient."

"She is that."

Thus they went, their pace unhurried as he led her down a stone path. Her boots falling in tandem with his, Annalyn realised she was staring at him. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something was different.

"Your braids," she said and saw his puzzled expression. When her meaning dawned on him, amusement seeped into his features.

"They are not the same as before." Though his style of hair was relatively unchanged, the tightly braided sections over his ears were interlaced in a slightly different manner. Whether he tied it back out of practicality, or it was simply his preference, Haldir's fair hair was smooth and perfectly groomed—much like all the Elves she had seen thus far. _Such a fair people_ , she thought, then wondered if Haldir had any idea how beautiful he was.

Presently, his fingers were hooked behind his back, his features revealing little as he surveyed the passing scenery. Content to walk in companionable silence, Annalyn did the same, until he spoke without looking at her.

"It is good to see you wearing your sword again."

"It feels good to wear it, and better still to wield it. Though I grant you, I am somewhat out of practice." Annalyn flexed her hand. "Doubtless, my arm will feel it in the morning."

"You have skill, and no small amount of fortitude," Haldir stated matter-of-factly. "Your strength shall return ere long. I do not doubt it."

Straight was their path, but the ground sloped gently downward. A few paces ahead, stairs had been carved into the ground, four of them, with two solemn-faced statues on either side. Their eyes were fair in shape, but as she descended the steps, passing them by, Annalyn noted the sorrow in them, wondered who they were fashioned after.

"Amroth and Nimrodel," Haldir murmured as Annalyn stopped and beheld the statues.

The name Amroth was vaguely familiar to her. Haldir might have mentioned him before.

Sensing her confusion, Haldir came to stand beside her, and quietly relayed the story.

Amroth, she learned, had been the last King of Lórien. "Nimrodel was his beloved," Haldir told her. "Grieved by the darkening of Middle-earth, she expressed her desire to flee Lórien and live in a land of peace. But as they journeyed south, toward Edhellond, a haven from which the Elves would sail to the West in those days, the two became separated."

Haldir was silent for a moment, a definite air of sorrow about him.

"Upon reaching the Havens, Amroth boarded the last remaining ship, but refused to set sail without Nimrodel. Days turned into weeks. Summer yielded to autumn. Then, late one night, as Amroth awaited his beloved, a great storm rolled in. The next morning, when he realised the ship had broken from its moors and drifted away, he leapt into the sea in hopes of reaching the shore. But the waves proved too strong, and he drowned."

Though his gaze remained on the statues, Haldir said no more.

"What of Nimrodel?" Annalyn's fingertips grazed the polished stone, following the cascading locks that fell over the maiden's shoulder. "What became of her?"

"She was lost."

In the ensuing quiet, the two resumed their stroll. After a time, Annalyn broached another subject. "This place is clearly very old. How long have your people dwelt here?"

"Wood-elves have abided here since the First Age. Laurelindórenan it was called by the Nandor. After the War of Wrath, many of the Sindar chose to settle in the region, and live alongside the Nandor. It was then that Amdír, a Sinda, took over as King. But Lothlórien, as you see it now, only came into being after the Lord and the Lady journeyed hither, during the Second Age."

The Nandor, the Sindar. Such a long and complicated history. Hoping to get a better grasp on things, Annalyn voiced a question. "You mean there are different peoples amongst the Elves?"

His mouth quirked. "You seem surprised."

She stammered. "I suppose I just never gave it any thought."

Before aught else could be said, a delicate sound reached their ears, the flapping of tiny wings as a bird alighted nearby. Its feathers were lovely, Annalyn noted, a pale yellow like newly-churned butter. Returning to the topic at hand, she looked to Haldir, asked, "Which one are you?"

"I am of Nandorin descent," he stated simply. "A Silvan elf."

"Silvan elf," she echoed and liked the name. "And you mentioned the Sindar. Are there others?"

"In Lothlórien there is one who is counted among the Noldor. The Lady Galadriel. As for other elven peoples, there are the Vanyar of Valinor, the Teleri of Alqualondë. But to name and elaborate on the various kindreds might prove too lengthy for our stroll. For the Elves have a long and complicated history, with many sunderings along the way."

Day was growing warmer. Having reached a wide fork in the road, the two turned aside, onto a rising path flanked by giant tree roots. In the distance ahead, just visible between the nearest trees, Annalyn spied a hill of green upon which grew several _mallyrn_ , including the mightiest one of all. Raising her gaze, she saw a large dwelling, and several smaller ones, high up in the treetops. "I will say one thing—elven homes are a fair sight to look upon."

The word harmonious came to mind. Indeed, the Elves had built them in a style that complimented the surrounding growth—balanced and organic forms that blended seamlessly with the trees.

"There sits the home of the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim." As Haldir continued ahead, Annalyn slowed for a moment, her gaze riveted on the large dwelling in the boughs. But when Haldir glanced back, saying, "This way," she blinked and followed after him, and soon found herself on the western flank of the hill.

As they skirted along, heading further north, Annalyn heard clear elven voices in the air. A song, soft and melodious, that seemed to come from the heavens.

What happened next was hard to describe. As they were walking forth, something seemed to draw Haldir's attention. Aware of something she could neither hear nor see, he slowed to a halt, and appeared to listen for a moment. When he turned to her, delight seemed to flash on his otherwise guarded features. "It would seem someone wishes to meet you." With that, he indicated another path, one that went up the hill instead of around it.

Seized with a sudden and inexplicable apprehension, Annalyn found that her feet would not move. Someone wished to meet her? _Whom could it be?_ Though a part of her already knew.

"Come," Haldir called over his shoulder, and his eyes willed her to trust him. Then another voice joined in. But this time, Annalyn heard it not with her ears, but in her mind.

" _Do not be troubled. There is nothing to fear_." A woman. Lady Galadriel, no doubt.

To hear a voice like that, from within, was unsettling. Nevertheless, Annalyn trusted Haldir. Seeing the relaxed set of his shoulders, she felt some of her fears melt away. Her gaze trailing after him, she breathed in deep, and finally moved her feet.


	36. The Lady of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. Because the next week might prove rather busy, I thought I would post another chapter while I can. This one is the longest so far. 
> 
> As always, I would like to thank all my readers, and all those who have left reviews. Your comments are encouraging and much appreciated.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE LADY OF LIGHT

The path led them to the southern face of the hill, where the morning sun lent a golden glow to everything it touched. After a short but silent walk, Annalyn and Haldir came to the base of a staircase which was wrapped about the bole of the giant mallorn. On either side stood two guards, clad in grey mail, with long cloaks fastened about their shoulders. At full attention, they were staring straight ahead, each with a longbow in hand.

As Haldir and Annalyn came into view, one of them blew on a horn, an echoing call that was promptly answered from above.

With a nod to the guards, Haldir led Annalyn toward the immense staircase but, looking up, a brilliance caught their attention. It was a raiment of pure white, a jewel encrusted gown as radiant as the Elf who wore it.

Though she had never seen the Lady with her own eyes, Annalyn immediately knew it was her. It had to be. Lady Galadriel. Lady of Light.

Transfixed, Annalyn watched as the Elf descended the stairs. She was tall. Her steps were graceful, her bearing high and proud. Her feet, surprisingly enough, were unshod. Her gaze sweeping up once more, Annalyn had to marvel at her hair—a cascade of gold that fell all the way past her hips. A circlet of silver lay upon her head, its delicate curving lines evoking both water and leaves.

For some reason she could not explain, Annalyn felt that she should kneel. So she did. Not out of fealty—for she was of Rohan, and Théoden, son of Thengel, was her king—but because she was… _moved_. With her head bowed, a hand on bent knee, Annalyn briefly closed her eyes, and wondered if all who looked upon the Lady felt the way she did now.

"I bid you rise, Annalyn, daughter of Éadmód."

Astonishment washed over her then, for Annalyn had not mentioned her father's name—not to Haldir or any other Elf in Lothlórien.

At last, Annalyn gathered herself enough to rise. To her left, Haldir stood like the proud and grave warden that he was. His eyes, however, were sparkling. As for Galadriel, she folded her hands in front of her, but did not yet speak.

Her gaze was keen but soft, her beauty luminous beyond compare. Yet to call her young would have been a mistake. Indeed, there was wisdom, ancient and knowing, in the ruler's blue eyes. If Haldir was three thousand years old, Annalyn could not begin to fathom how long Galadriel had walked the earth. Ages perhaps. An Immortal in the truest sense of the word. Fair. Powerful in a way the other Elves were not. Of this Annalyn felt certain, for she sensed it somehow.

The Lady broke the silence. Her voice was clear and kind. "It is long since I have beheld a daughter of Men in the city of the Galadhrim. Be welcome here. I am Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien."

It took a moment, but Annalyn found her voice at last. "Well met, my Lady. And gratitude." Recalling the words Haldir had taught her, Annalyn bowed in Elf fashion, and spoke haltingly. " _Ni elvellon_." _I am a friend of the Elves_.

The Lady's mouth curved in a discerning smile, and her eyes flitted ever so briefly to Haldir. _Indeed,_ her gaze implied _._ But then her expression softened. Subdued it seemed. She spoke once more into her mind. _I know much of what has befallen you._ _Your path has been wearisome, filled with sorrow_.

By now, it was clear that Galadriel could peer into her innermost thoughts. It was a strange sensation that, quite frankly, made her feel rather exposed.

Still, Annalyn could not deny the Lady's observation. Weary she was, and hurting, at least on the inside. Despite the tranquility of this place, and the kindness of the Elves, an emptiness remained, as if her chest had been hollowed out.

 _There is grief in your heart_ , Galadriel said, _for you have lost much on your journey_.

She could not deny it, even in thought. _There is_ —then another silent admission— _I have_.

Annalyn had lost her last remaining kin. She missed them terribly, and oft wondered if she would ever feel whole again.

"You have walked a long and sorrowful road," Galadriel said aloud. "Set your burdens aside, and know that you may rest here, amongst the Elves, for as long as you wish or need."

Thankful for the privilege, Annalyn gave a small but genuine smile. "You are very kind."

For a moment, the Lady's gaze slid over to Haldir. In the ensuing silence, Annalyn wondered if the Lady now spoke into his mind.

Finally, addressing them both, Galadriel wished them a pleasant stroll. "May your paths be green. Until next we meet."

Thus it was that Annalyn met the ruler of Lothlórien. After their brief but unforgettable exchange, Annalyn thanked the Lady once more, and took her leave. With Haldir leading the way, she proceeded down the path from whence they had come, and headed north until they came upon another set of stairs. At the very top was a footbridge roofed with interlacing branches and golden leaves. Wide and sturdy, the bowered pathway was lined with elegant rails, with lamps hanging at intervals. _They must look beautiful at night_.

A short walk took them beyond the sheltering branches to a fork in the path, where Haldir turned to her and asked, "Have you thought of where you might wish to go?"

Hesitating, Annalyn halted, and shifted her weight from her heels to the balls of her feet. "Well, there is one place." As he waited, she chewed her lower lip, and gave a bashful smile. "Would you show me your home? It would please me to see where you live."

Haldir regarded her with amusement, inclining his head when he answered, "As you wish. But the city is great, and there are numerous ways to reach my home. Is there aught you might wish to see along the way?"

"Well…" Annalyn turned on the spot and blew out a breath, thinking. So vast. So breathtaking. _What shall I choose?_ "People."

Haldir blinked at that.

She explained, "I wish to see people. To hear laughter, and see common…" Annalyn searched for the word. "…everyday… _life_."

His mouth twitched, but there was no mocking in it. At length, he jerked his chin toward the east. "There is a place nearby, where Elves go to share their respective crafts. Would that please you?"

Her face split in a grin. "More than you know."

* * *

Jewels. Instruments of music. Bolts of luxurious fabric, and fine-looking clothing. All were arrayed before her, the elven market nestled along a flet that was so vast, the end of it could not be seen as it curved behind the bole of a nearby mallorn.

Some of the displays had been set beneath a long lattice roof, while others were shaded by boughs and leaves. There was music here, for someone was playing a flute of some kind. Wanting to see, Annalyn craned her neck, but there were quite a few Elves gathered in this place. Serene or smiling faces, not to mention curious ones as some turned to look.

Surprised though they seemed, the Elves never stared at her for long. Rather, their attention almost always turned to Haldir, whom they acknowledged with quiet greetings or by simply bowing their heads. There could be no doubt, Haldir was held in high esteem in the realm, but then he was a Marchwarden, a fact that was sometimes easy to forget.

To Annalyn, he was simply Haldir. A dutiful and commanding soldier, true. But a friend of equal standing.

"So," she began as they meandered along. "This feels different, does it not?"

"What does?"

Acknowledging a nearby merchant, Annalyn cast a sweeping look at his wares, before glancing back to Haldir. "You and I, on a stroll like this. It is not the same as before, when we were out there in the wilds, chasing after Orcs, or hiding from them."

"That is quite true," he stated simply, and followed in her wake. "What do you make of our creations?"

Annalyn made no reply at first. Rather, she trailed a finger along a velvet-covered table, admiring a delicate mirror on display. Gazing past a line of hair brushes, her eyes settled on a selection of ornamental hair combs, all nature-inspired and beautifully wrought. But while they were all lovely, one in particular drew her gaze. Made of silver, the comb was crafted in the shape of a mallorn leaf. Delicate and flawless, it winked in the light as she passed by.

"Honestly, I have never seen such a selection before, not even in Edoras." Back in Rohan, life was not as forgiving as it seemed to be here, and the people mostly traded in necessities: vegetables, grain, salt, even livestock. On the odd occasion, a merchant might offer exotic spices and various items from faraway places, but not often, for the roads were no longer safe, and travelling merchants were few and far between.

Annalyn and Haldir strolled forth. When a nearby craftsman acknowledged her with a graceful bow of his head, she did the same, but her words were for Haldir. "It is surprisingly peaceful for a market."

Though her village was small by comparison, its streets were much noisier. On market days, a constant bustle could be heard, and merchants vied for people's attention, oft calling to the villagers as they walked by. But Annalyn could not fault them for their eagerness, for their trade was how they survived. As much as she loved the Mark, and as proud as she was to call it home, her village was indeed very modest, and the people struggled at times. Not so in Lothlórien. One just had to look around.

Here, it seemed that the Elves were driven less by need, than by a desire to share their creations, which they wrought with obvious love and care.

"I suppose it is more a gallery than it is a market," Haldir allowed. "The Elves are most skilled in crafts of all kinds. Ever they strive to create or enrich the things which they love."

Lifting her gaze, Annalyn observed all those around her, noting yet another difference from the markets back home. There were no elderly people here—though that went without saying—but curiously enough, there were no children either. Her smile turned wistful, her mind supplying images of giggling babes chasing after clucking chickens, or older children playing with their dogs while their parents bartered nearby.

It felt strange to her in a way and, for a brief moment, made her long for home.

"Is something wrong?" Haldir's query was discreet, uttered as he brushed past her.

"No." Her shoulder rose then fell again. "Simply… there are no children here." While Annalyn had never borne children, and likely never would, she liked having them around. There seemed to be a light in them, their laughter as infectious as the unquenchable curiosity in their eyes.

"That is not entirely true." With a subtle tug on her arm, Haldir turned her just so. "Look over yonder, the one that is clad in a grey robe."

Following his line of sight, Annalyn saw the Elf in question—male, she guessed, with golden hair. Trying not to stare, she lowered her gaze and feigned interest in a nearby display. "You jest. That is a child?" He was taller than she was.

He gave a soft chuckle. "Not a child, no. But he has yet to come of age."

"How old is he?" _Please, do not say he is older than I_.

"If memory serves, he will be one hundred on Midwinter night. Only then will he be of age."

Annalyn had to keep from wincing. That was as old as she could ever hope to be—if she even lived that long. Most did not. Though she wished it didn't, this latest bit of information made her feel rather small, a sobering reminder that her life-span was a mere flicker in comparison to theirs.

"So elven children are not common, then?"

Haldir led her away from the most crowded displays, his hands linked behind his back. "As a rule, marriage and the begetting of children is of chief importance amongst the Elves, or most of them at least," he added, perhaps to exclude himself. "But seldom are children given to us." He glanced toward the young Elf once more. "Taerion is amongst our youngest here in Caras Galadhon. And with war on the horizon, it is likely to remain that way for some time to come."

So the Elves rarely had children, and refrained altogether in times of war. It made sense to Annalyn, even if a small part of her thought it was sad.

The further they walked, the quieter it became. As the crowd gradually fell away behind them, Haldir turned his thoughts to more practical matters. "Your supplies," he began. "I would see them replenished ere you depart. A tent you will need, and furs to keep you warm at night." His words were casual but assertive, his manner befitting his rank. "And food enough so that you do not have to hunt or forage along the way."

Not knowing what to say, Annalyn stammered a bit. "That is quite thoughtful of you."

Rounding a large mallorn, the two found themselves alone. As a footbridge came into view, Haldir raised a hand to guide her way. "Unlike Rohan, Lothlórien does not have a full cavalry. But horses we do have, in small numbers. Since one of my soldiers will be accompanying you on your journey, I have seen to it that she, too, has a steed to ride, so that you may reach the Westfold with as little delay as possible."

Annalyn blinked, for this was the first she had heard of this. An armed escort?

Haldir noted her confusion, narrowed his eyes. "You seem displeased."

Pondering her reply, she hoped he wouldn't take this the wrong way. "I am grateful for your aid. Truly. But…" She sighed but kept on walking. "Food I can accept. The same for a tent and furs. But an armed escort? Haldir, your soldiers are needed here."

"You think I cannot spare a soldier?" By the way he cocked his brow, Annalyn could tell that she had nicked his pride.

"I would travel only by day," she assured him, and stifled an exasperated sigh. "And I know how to stay hidden at night. In case you have forgotten, I _can_ fend for myself."

"Travelling alone in such times is a perilous thing. You of all people should know this."

Now she frowned, and came to a sudden halt. "I do."

He faced her. "Then why refuse my aid?"

"Why?" Annalyn echoed, even as her mind grappled with the answer. Granted, she too had pride, and much of it. But was she being reckless? Foolish? Her heart constricted, her features falling as the truth finally revealed itself. "My kin are gone. Every last one of them. Whether I cry or rage against it, nothing will ever bring them back to me."

At these words, some of the tension left his jaw.

Annalyn said, "I have not wanted to admit it, but the truth is, ever since you found me that night, I have relied on you." And as grateful as she was, a part of her hated that. "I have eaten your food, shared your waterskin. I have slept soundly while you guarded me at night. But Haldir..." Annalyn raised her chin to catch his eyes, to make him understand. "At one point, I will have to face the world alone. The sooner I do, the better it will be."

"What of your people?" His tone had gentled to match her own, but his face remained grim. "Friends? Neighbours? Surely, there are some who would wonder and grieve should something befall you along the way."

Perhaps, but the fact of the matter was making friends had ever been a challenge for Annalyn. Though they seldom said so to her face, many of the villagers felt that she lived a strange life. There were times when the men would shake their heads, and the women oft whispered amongst themselves. To guess their words was not very difficult. Annalyn overheard them at times.

" _She lives like a man that one. Why her uncle has indulged her is beyond me._ "

" _Will that girl ever wed?_ "

" _A girl? A woman grown is what she is. She will be thirty before long. No husband, no children_. _An odd one to be sure_."

Though she mostly ignored the whispers, the words left their mark nonetheless. But Annalyn was self-reliant. Her life was hers to live, and always would be.

But all that being said, Annalyn was not exactly shunned either. Only she didn't fit in at times, especially with other women. But she did have a loose circle of friendly acquaintances, people with whom she would sit at the mead hall.

And then there was Erna, the kind young woman who awaited Aldin's return. If something were to happen, and Annalyn failed to return, Erna would wait and wait for her beloved. She would fret and cling to false hope, until the passage of time forced her to accept his loss. And then she would wonder, harbouring questions no one could answer, save Annalyn.

While she, herself, did not know the whole of what had befallen Aldin, Annalyn knew part of the story, a story that Erna deserved to know.

"Could you do it?" Haldir asked, awaiting an answer. "Could you take such a risk?"

Sighing, Annalyn took a long, hard look at herself. Was she that prideful? Her shoulders sagged a little. She started walking again. "Very well," she relented, for Erna's sake.

"You are mistaken, you know," Haldir said a short time later.

She waited for him to elaborate.

"That day, by your uncle's cairn, you said something to me. That you would follow the Orcs with or without my aid. Or have you forgotten?" He gave her a pointed look. "Those were not the words of a woman who _relies_ on anyone."

While the memory was a painful one, her heart lifted slightly at his words. However, before she could form a reply, someone called to Haldir.

Turning, Annalyn saw a russet-haired male, clad in grey clothes and a matching cloak. Staring she saw that he, too, was wearing a sword-belt, with a long curving blade that was quite similar to Haldir's. A fellow soldier, then.

" _Gi suilon_ ," he said—in greeting, she assumed.

As he neared, Annalyn noted the way he carried himself, a cool but assertive presence, much like Haldir's, yet different also. More open.

"I did not think to find you here," the Elf said to Haldir, in the common tongue this time. His eyes flickered to Annalyn for the briefest of instants.

"Erynion." Haldir inclined his head in greeting. But though he remained courteous, Haldir's posture hinted at an underlying tension. It was barely discernible, for he was adept at concealing such things, but Annalyn knew him. She saw, and couldn't help but wonder as to the cause.

"I thought you were making for the marches," Haldir said.

"I will be. Presently." The Elf turned his focus on Annalyn, his elven eyes sparkling when he said, "It is good seeing you again."

Again?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for he said, "It pleases me to see that you are in good health."

Though she summoned a polite smile, heat rose to her cheeks.

Annalyn had never spoken to this Elf, had never laid eyes on him, yet he had seen her before, at the height of her illness no doubt. _He and how many others?_ she wondered miserably.

"Forgive me. We have not been properly introduced." The Elf raised a graceful hand to his chest, then looked to Haldir, who supplied, "Erynion is a fellow warden. He commands the Southern Fences." Haldir swept his arm toward her. "Erynion, allow me to introduce Annalyn. A daughter of Rohan, and a _friend_ of the Elves."

Unless she was mistaken, something seemed to pass between the two wardens. Haldir was staring at Erynion, chin slightly raised—a subtle challenge it seemed. For his part, Erynion merely stood there, his features and his voice not entirely contrite when he said, "Indeed." His eyes returned to hers, and he flashed a smile again. "Be welcome here. I trust you have been provided with all that you need. May you find friendship and respite amongst the Galadhrim."

Haldir inclined his head at that, his features laced with stoic satisfaction.

Before she could make sense of their puzzling exchange, Erynion said, "Well, I must depart."—to Annalyn—"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Perhaps we shall see each other again. At the Midwinter feast possibly, unless you depart before then."

Annalyn smiled once more. "Possibly." Though, having never heard of said feast, she had no idea.

Their encounter at an end, Erynion gave a small bow, glanced to Haldir one last time, and was on his way.

"Is he a friend of yours?" she asked once the warden was out of earshot.

"At times." Before she could ask what he meant by that, Haldir said, "Come. My home is this way."

* * *

The mallorn was gargantuan, its golden crown so lofty, it obscured much of the sky. Head tilted back, Annalyn paused at the foot of the hill onto which the tree had taken root, and stared at the mighty limbs and the many dwellings that were perched at varying heights.

"So this mallorn is your home? Remarkable."

"It is that." Haldir's profile was serene, his voice laced with quiet pride. "Come."

And so they ascended the hill, where the mouth-watering scent of freshly baked bread permeated the air.

"Something smells divine."

"That would be the kitchens." Haldir indicated the large structure that was now coming into view. Overlooking the stone terrace, it was mostly open on one side, with elegant archways that revealed a work surface laden with herbs and vegetables and cloth covered mounds of freshly kneaded dough.

"Glirwen," Annalyn beamed when she spotted the baker.

Noting their presence, Glirwen glanced up from her task, her brown locks limned in the orange glow of a nearby oven, and inclined her head in greeting.

Doing the same, Annalyn widened her smile before addressing Haldir. "She and I have met."

"So I was told."

Passing by a long vacant table, Annalyn guessed that this was a communal dining area of sorts. Enchanted, she threw one last look at the kitchens, where Glirwen was sprinkling flour onto her work surface. "Is she making _lembas_ , do you think?"

"Nay," Haldir said then explained that Waybread was not common fare, that as a rule it was only given to those who had to journey far in the wilds, or to those who were gravely hurt. "Here in Lothlórien, none but the Lady can make it, for she is Breadgiver."

"Breadgiver," Annalyn echoed.

"It is a title held by the highest woman among any Elvish people, provided she is among those who learned the craft long ago." As they left the dining area, Haldir looked sidelong at her. "I have said much this day. I hope I have not overburdened you with the complexities of my people."

"Not at all. Your culture and history are far from simple; that much I will own. But I find it quite fascinating. It is kind of you to explain these things to me."

"Think nothing of it."

The two were now at the base of the tree. As they climbed the spiral stairs, Annalyn stayed near to the bole, and tried not to think of the increasing height beneath their feet. Indeed, they were already quite high. Higher than the market they had visited earlier.

 _Dwellings in trees_. An impressive feat to be sure, but so very elevated.

Luckily, the steps themselves were level and sturdy, and Haldir remained by her side. Reassured, Annalyn allowed her fingers to skim the bark. The mallorn was smooth, clearly ancient yet full of life. It seemed a fitting habitation for immortal Elves.

Upon noting her interest, Haldir explained that the _mallyrn_ had been Galadriel's gift to the realm, and to King Amdír, who ruled the forest at the time. "Indeed, the city would not be as it is today without the Lady Galadriel." They were passing by a house at this point. Haldir said it belonged to Rúmil. "As for Orophin and Ithriel,"—Haldir indicated another house, one that was slightly larger—"they reside just over yonder. It is the home in which I was raised."

"Is it?" Surprised, Annalyn surveyed the home and tried to envision him as a young Elf—a golden-haired child, running and playing on the platform outside. It warmed her heart.

"This way."

Snapping out of her reverie, Annalyn followed Haldir toward a footbridge, beyond which was a lone dwelling. His dwelling.

It, too, was enchanting, with a white exterior and elegant double doors that had been left open. "Here we are." Haldir halted once they had reached the threshold. Smoothly, he swept his arm in invitation, and watched as she walked in.

His home was beautiful; such was the first thought that came to mind.

As she halted beyond the threshold, Haldir standing behind her left shoulder, Annalyn allowed her gaze to float around the room. It smelled of him, she thought, and felt her smile broaden.

To be sure, his dwelling looked nothing like the humble houses back home. Before her was a cozy sitting area with a grey lounging couch and a graceful wooden chair. Near to it was a small table, onto which sat a delicate lamp, similar to those which hung about the city, but much smaller.

Additionally, the room contained a desk, over which sat three large tomes and some scrolls. Of these, one was unfurled and appeared to be a map of some kind, its curled edges held in place by a dagger and inkwell. A soldier's desk, she mused, then sent her gaze across the room.

Haldir had a small dining table as well, beyond which was a balcony, or a flet of some kind. Though partially obscured by long gossamer curtains, the view beyond the open archway was of silver and gold, the hues made warmer by the sun.

At a loss for words, Annalyn stepped further into the room, and slowly spun around. His bow and quiver, she noted, hung near the door, within immediate reach should the need arise. Smiling fondly, she lifted her gaze, and her mouth fell open. Above her head was a white vaulted ceiling veined with swirling patterns of branches and leaves. To her left, a curving staircase led to a smaller room above. Given its height, she couldn't quite see it from here, but the space was open on one side, reminding her of a flet up in a tree—his bedchamber, she reckoned and found it endearing.

"Your home," she said at last, but could not find the words.

But Haldir was not looking at his surroundings. Rather, he was staring at her, and though his features were guarded, there seemed to be gladness in his eyes. "It pleases you," he assumed and was not wrong.

With an open palm, he indicated the surrounding space. "You may have a look if you wish. Or you may find a seat and rest your feet, for you are welcome in my home."

It was true that they had walked along many paths today. And while they had taken their time, resting along the way, Annalyn's feet had grown weary, especially after climbing all those stairs. But curiosity being part of her nature, she chose to wander the room first, slowing as she neared his desk. "What are these?" she asked of the books and scrolls he kept there.

"Elven histories mostly. Great deeds and written accounts of past conflict and war." Haldir came to stand beside her. "To understand the present, one must know the past, or so I have always believed."

"Then your belief is mine." Annalyn lifted one of the tomes. "May I?"

"By all means," he said before asking, "Do you enjoy reading?"

Her smile turned wistful, but it was not out of shame. "My people write no books. Yet we do sing many songs, in honor of great battles and valiant heroes of old." Like Eorl the Young, the first king of Rohan, of whom the men often sang.

But with darkness spreading over the Riddermark, Annalyn had to wonder. What songs would be sung in the years to come? Should doom fall upon them and evil prevail, who would be left to sing? Who would remember? _The brave will_ , she told herself, for her people were not without courage. They had pride and fire in their hearts. They would not fall. To believe otherwise… _No_.

As Haldir went to the small serving cart near the side of the stairs, Annalyn set the book down, then reached for another one. Unable to read any of it, she leafed through the first few pages and was about to abandon her perusal when a drawing caught her eye—a battle rendered in ink.

When Haldir called her attention to him, she politely declined his offer of cordial, but took him up on his earlier invitation and made for the lounging couch, tome in hand. Sitting on the very edge of it, she set the book on her lap and opened it in search of the fine renderings inside.

At first, her eyes beheld a wide assortment of weapons and armour—shields, swords, daggers of all kinds—but skimming ahead, Annalyn found a battle scene similar to the one that had first piqued her interest. On the page was a long line of elven soldiers, standing shoulder to shoulder, swords at the ready. The vanguard, it seemed, with a full army behind them. Their shields were tall, their banners caught in the wind. Before them was an advancing legion of Orcs, their hideous faces twisted in bloodlust. Though the rendering was fixed in time, Annalyn could easily envision the initial clash; Orcs breaking upon the vanguard like a wave onto immovable rock.

"The Battle of Dagorlad," Haldir explained, and she remembered that he had spoken of it the other night. His drink now in hand, he capped the crystal decanter. "My mother and father fought there."

"You admired them," she guessed, for his eyes said so.

"I did. And still do."

"What were their names?" she found herself asking.

"My father's name was Halon, whereas my mother was named Esteril." Just hearing him speak, it was clear that he missed them dearly, as much as she missed her own parents, she supposed.

"What were they like?"

In lieu of answering, Haldir downed some of his cordial, and went to fetch the third and last tome on his desk. As he flipped to a specific page, he made his way over to her, and held it open so she could see.

At first glance, the rendering appeared to be of an elven king—the crown gave it away. Perhaps it was King Amdír. But behind him, and slightly to the side, stood a group of three, two males and one female, clad like the sentinels of the Golden Wood. Scanning their faces, her attention settled on one in particular, then her mouth went slack.

Broad shoulders. A pale head of hair. Stoic but beautiful features. The resemblance was striking, so striking in fact that her eyes kept flickering back and forth, from the page to Haldir, then back again.

Her reaction seemed to amuse him. "My mother always said that I took after my father, both in likeness and in temperament." Now he pointed to the woman. "My stubbornness, on the other hand, I inherited from her." Unsurprisingly, Haldir's mother was tall and beautiful, but unlike her sons, her pale hair fell in cascading waves.

Closing the book, Haldir settled in a nearby chair, then pointed to the tome she still held on her lap, the one with the battle rendering. "They never forgot that war."

The image drew her gaze once again.

"Indeed, it proved costly for the Elves. We lost nearly half of our forces, including Amdír, who was King of Lórien at the time. In an Age when our people had a king. After he fell, his son became ruler. Amroth, whose statue you saw this morning."

She remembered. Amroth and Nimrodel.

But Haldir's words, twinned with the drawing before her, sent her thoughts in a new direction, namely the coming war, and what might come to pass. As Haldir went on, oblivious to her musings, Annalyn saw him in her mind's eye, envisioning him in the heat of battle, leading a charge against Sauron's forces. A devoted soldier, Haldir would fight valiantly, she knew, and the Orcs would fall before him. But the tides of war were capricious, and victory was never assured. Not for the Elves. Not for anyone.

But would she ever know? By the time Haldir marched off to war, Annalyn would have undoubtedly returned home by then. If her fears were made real, and he somehow fell in battle, it seemed unlikely that the news would ever reach her. Whatever the outcome, whether he lived or died, she would spend her life wondering. Wondering and hoping and, yes, missing him. Terribly.

Sitting here, trying to conceal her musings, it was hard to believe that just a few months ago, Haldir had been a potential foe in her eyes. And now… Now, she was fretting for his safety, and couldn't imagine a world without him in it. She didn't want to.

Engulfed in growing sadness, Annalyn listened as he spoke of other elven kings, Oropher of Mirkwood, and Gil Galad, High King of the Noldor, both of whom were slain in the war. "But the Elves were not alone in their grief," Haldir said. "For the Men who fought alongside us sustained heavy losses as well. The slaying of brothers, fathers, and sons. And their king, Elendil son of Amandil."

"It is a shame," she said at length, "When good men fall. At least, they did not die in vain."

"Nay," he agreed and fell silent.

Several heartbeats passed before she closed the book, then a few more before she could lift her gaze.

"Annalyn?"

There was no fooling him.

She summoned a polite smile, one she hoped would hide her distress. "On second thought, perhaps I will accept that cordial." Seeking to escape her turmoil, Annalyn set the book on the couch, and regained her feet. But when Haldir began to rise, she lifted a hand, saying she would go, and made for the serving cart herself. Alas, even as she poured, Annalyn could not shake the gruesome vision in her mind. A battlefield carpeted by the fallen, Orcs and Elves numbering in the thousands, with Haldir lying lifeless among them.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice closer this time, and softer.

 _Leave it to Haldir_.

Observant and discerning, he had sensed her sadness—sensed and known that it stemmed from something other than the story he had just shared, something closer to her own heart.

Yet what could she say? " _When you march to war,_ _please do not die? Promise me you will not fall?_ " A mirthless laugh threatened to escape. She had to shake her head. What purpose would it serve? Even if she asked it of him, it was not in his power to grant such a request.

With her back to him, she raised the glass to her lips, but did not take a sip just yet. "You wish to know the truth?" A pause. She was stalling. Could he tell? "War frightens me."

For once, she actually heard him come up behind her, his footfalls measured and slow. "War frightens all," he confessed at length. "Warriors and rulers alike. As it should." Soft but earnest words. In the ensuing pause, Annalyn took a sip, and closed her eyes. The cordial had spicy undertones, strong yet surprisingly comforting, much like the Elf behind her.

"I do not fear the Orcs," Haldir continued. "Nor do I fear falling in battle. But I do harbour fears."

As she waited for him to say more, Annalyn felt that, perhaps, he was stalling as well, gathering his courage just like she had.

"As a warden, I hold many cares. Whether in battle or on patrol, I bear the weight of every decision and every command. If I err, the price is paid for in blood and in lives."

Thinking he had finished, Annalyn turned her face just so, and was about to—

"I fear for my soldiers, Annalyn."

Now she did turn around, noted how subdued he was, how exposed, his vulnerabilities laid out for her to see. Quite frankly, it was a remarkable sight, as poignant and profound as what he said next.

"I fear for my friends, for my brothers, and all those who dwell here." His brows creased ever so slightly. "I fear for Lothlórien."

She weighed her words. "Your burden is heavy. I do not envy it."

But then he squared his shoulders. "It is heavy at times," he allowed. "But I carry it freely."

"That I know," Annalyn said and smiled a little, for it was one of the things she loved about him. "When the time comes," she began at last. "When you march into battle… be mindful out there?" This, at least, she could ask.

Their visual connection held. His hand rose to his chest, a lock of his hair falling away from his shoulder as he gave an assenting bow. Yet as heartening as it was, his silent promise could not assuage the grief that was now growing in her being.

Time, she thought ruefully. If only they had more of it. Indeed, Haldir was leaving for the marches in less than two days, and would not return for a fortnight, by which time _she_ would be set to depart—or very near to it. Ill-timed, ill-fated, or simply unfortunate. Whichever way you put it, their time together was nearly at an end.

"Gracious, I am going to miss you," Annalyn said before she could stop herself. Her pulse quickened. She turned to escape his gaze. Her glass coming to rest on the serving cart, Annalyn smoothed the front of her vest, and prayed for the floorboards to open up. For there was a line in place, one they had drawn together and been careful not to cross—at least until a moment ago, when she had opened her mouth.

Nevertheless, embarrassed or not, there was no taking back what she had just said. She had meant it. She _was_ going to miss him. More than he could know.

With a sudden, piercing need to see his face and divine his thoughts, Annalyn faced him again—wisdom be damned—and watched as he took a single step forward. Then one more.

So close.

"And I you, _mellon nîn_."

 _Mellon nîn_ — _my friend_. Touched by his words, Annalyn looked up into his night blue eyes. "It is remarkable when I think of it. How far we've come." Subdued laughter broke the stillness. She wiped her tears away. "If I am being truthful, I was quite frightened of you in the beginning."

A glimmer of interest crossed his beautiful face.

She said, "I remember it so clearly. When you dropped from that tree, with that steely expression on your face, a part of me thought you would toss us in a dungeon and throw away the key. How wrong I was."

"If memory serves, you were none too pleased when you made camp that night."

Annalyn snorted. "Furious more like. When you refused to let us pass, I thought you were unreasonable and overly rigid."

"I had guessed as much, but I believe you are forgetting one word."

"And what word would that be?"

"Arrogant," he supplied on a sly little smile, completing the list for her.

"That, too." Emboldened, Annalyn angled her head to the side. "Now you. What did you make of me when I first wandered in these woods?"

When Haldir failed to answer, her palms found the edge of the serving cart, and she leaned back against it. "Come now, it is only fair. Unless you're afraid."

He cocked a brow, but his mouth curved anyway. "I most certainly am not. I am simply weighing the risks."

"Risks? This should be interesting."

As she waited, Haldir gave a long-suffering sigh. With narrowed eyes, he asked, "Are you certain I am not courting trouble by answering this query?"

"I promise you are quite safe."

As a gentle wind ruffled the curtains nearby, he considered her with feigned seriousness, then he crossed his arms. "Very well, if you insist. I believe my first impression was that you were reckless."

"Reckless," she echoed.

"Well you were not exactly subtle. My sentinels heard you clear across the forest."

"Fair enough. What else?"

"More?"

"What can I say, my curiosity is boundless."

Hand rising to rub his chin, Haldir tapped a finger to his bottom lip. "When you made camp that evening, and I approached you while you were brushing your horse's coat, I thought you were difficult."

"Difficult? Me?" Annalyn guffawed but bit back a laugh, while Haldir spread his hands in mock surrender.

"But that was then."

"And now?" she found herself asking.

The warmth on his face was distracting. So was his scent—cloves and cedar mixed with something else, something new. Elven soap, she guessed, or a bottled fragrance.

"Now." Haldir narrowed the gap even more, and touched her face, the backs of his fingers grazing her jaw-line and making her ache. "Now," he whispered again.

As she waited for his revelation, Annalyn had to remind herself to breathe. Alas, before the moment could unfold, something netted his attention, making him look toward the door. Regretfully, he said, "Someone is coming." His hand fell away from her face.

Feeling oddly bereft, Annalyn watched as he excused himself. A part of her cursed the timing. But then, rationally speaking, perhaps the interruption had been a blessing in disguise, for they had been skirting a dangerous line just now.

No sooner had Haldir stepped outside than someone spoke to him. The voice was male. She did not know it, nor did she understand what was being said. Thinking she might calm her racing heart, Annalyn busied herself by retrieving the book from the couch. As she returned it to his desk, she darted a glance toward the doorway, and glimpsed a soldier, tall and gold of hair. As he waited, standing at attention, she saw that Haldir was pouring over a parchment. News from the fences perhaps.

Ashamed of her eavesdropping, Annalyn moved to the far side of the room, where she gazed out of the open archway overlooking the outside.

Though their walk had been lovely, this day was proving more difficult than she had reckoned it would be—loving someone and saying goodbye. It hurt to admit, but that's what they had been doing just now.

From now until the time she left these woods, each and every moment spent with him would be a farewell of sorts. _Might as well make them count_.

Her back resting against the archway, Annalyn closed her eyes against the anguish in her heart. Birds were chirping away out here, their song clear and lively. Glad for their melodies, she listened until fatigue came over her.

Whether it was due to all that walking, or the fact that she had not eaten since early that morning, Annalyn's knees felt rather unsteady. Thinking she might head back inside, she made for the couch again.

" _I cannot sit all day_." Those were the words she had said this morning, when Ithriel had found her in that clearing, practicing her sword-skills. But now the healer's warning echoed back to her. " _Nay, but what you might do is overexert yourself_."

It seemed she had done exactly that.

Irked by her lingering weakness, Annalyn considered the strengthening draught Ithriel had given her before setting out. She unstoppered the phial and was downing its contents when Haldir re-entered the house. "Forgive the intrusion. It was a report from the armoury," he said only to halt when he caught sight of her on the couch. "Are you feeling poorly?"

"A little fatigued is all.

"I shall fetch Ithriel."

"No, please. It is nothing." He stopped mid-step and regarded her as she went on. "I need but sit a moment. In fact, I believe the draught is working." Annalyn breathed in deep. "Yes. Much better now."

Haldir arched a dubious brow.

"I promise." Annalyn would have gained her feet again, but he was already making for the serving cart.

Once he had poured a glass of water, Haldir retraced his steps, and handed the goblet over. "The city is vast. Perhaps we ventured beyond what was wise."

"I do not regret our stroll. Our walk was delightful, and long have I wished to see your home. If anything, it is my fault. I ate but a little this morning."

Annalyn sipped at her water while Haldir crossed the room to fetch an apple from the fruit bowl that sat atop his dining table. When he brought it over, he regarded her for a moment. "It occurs to me. We have never shared a proper meal together. Not since we arrived in the city. Would it please you to do so?"

Annalyn stopped just short of biting the apple, delight pulling at her mouth. "I would love to dine with you."

* * *

And so it was that Haldir left Annalyn, and made for the kitchens, where he found Bestedir, cook and husband of Glirwen, preparing some of the evening fare. As he pulled a tray of golden cakes from the oven, he smiled fully, and said, "It is long since I have seen our Marchwarden in the kitchens."

It wasn't that Haldir never saw the kitchens—he walked by the open archways each day he was in the city—but since he usually stuck to his favourite dishes, and often dined alone, there was no real need to visit the kitchens. For whenever he was home, Glirwen and Bestedir would send a meal without him having to ask, unless he dined at Orophin's. Either way, it was a most convenient arrangement.

Bestedir set the tray on the counter. "It gladdens my heart to see you hither. Will you be joining us this evening?"

Haldir approached the work surface. "Soon," he promised evenly.

Now as far as personalities went, Haldir and Bestedir were on either ends of the scale. Welcoming and quick to laugh, the cook radiated cheerfulness, and the Elves loved him and flocked to his table because of it. Admittedly Haldir liked him, too, and enjoyed his company, but in smaller, less frequent doses.

"Tonight I am hosting a guest," Haldir said.

Surprise crossed Bestedir's face. "A guest?"

Haldir suffered the cook's curiosity with a cool but courteous expression. "Indeed." His brow rising toward his hairline, he saw Glirwen step around her husband, with a stack of plates in her hands. Though she promptly lowered her gaze, the furtive but knowing smile on her lips was unmistakable. Choosing to ignore it, Haldir looked to Bestedir and made his request.

"Would you do me a kindness and send whatever you feel is best? Three courses should suffice, with sweet mead to drink. No," he suddenly amended. "Wine if you please." For theirs was the very best in Middle-earth, quite possibly the best in all of Arda, though he couldn't know for certain, having never been to Aman.

If Annalyn had a taste for wine, she would like this one, he thought. Something told him she might even love it. In any event, tonight he wished for them to share a glass or two, an early goodbye as it were, and a private toast for having met her—this kind, stubborn, and maddening woman who had found her way into his heart.

Indeed, despite her young years, he saw her not as a child—as many Elves might—but as a woman grown. In less than three decades, Annalyn had borne many hardships, more than seemed fair. She had loved and lost and seen much of this world. Despite the perils, she and her kin had ventured beyond her homeland. They had seen the mountains of Eriador, the wilds of Rhovanion. And now, she was returning home—or soon would be—to forge ahead with what remained of her life and build it anew. His heart clenched painfully at that. A life without kin, he thought with much regret. But not without friends, he hoped. As for eventual love—his mind supplied a brief flash of her with another man—well…

It was best not to think on it.

"Certainly," Bestedir replied once he had recovered from his initial surprise. As for Glirwen, she had already stepped out of the kitchens at this point, presumably to set the long the table outside.

Thus it was that Haldir left the kitchens. As he started across the terrace, he noted the arrival of several Elves, most of whom lived nearby. Some were making for the kitchens—to arrange for their meal, or prepare it themselves—while the rest sought a place at the table.

Such was the way in Caras Galadhon, where individual trees—or small clusters of them—often gave shelter to distinct communities. Some, like this one, were comprised mostly of Silvan Elves, others of the Sindar. But that being said, the Elves of Lórien were unified also. Silvan or Sindar, it mattered not for the most part. There was friendship between them, and much mingling. Some even fell in love and intermarried, like Orophin and Ithriel, who had wed shortly before her parents had hearkened to the sea, and left for the Undying Lands.

His thoughts on dinner, Haldir had almost reached the spiral staircase when a sense of foreboding crept over him, like icy fingers trailing down his spine. Turning, he approached the edge of the terrace to peer at the green paths below. He heard his name then. When he looked to its source, Haldir saw a guard, one that was usually stationed near the gates. Thannor.

Presently, he stood by a maid who was now pointing in his direction.

"I believe he is on the terrace," Haldir heard her say from afar.

_What's this?_

Expressing his thanks, Thannor hurried past the elleth. As he approached the hillside and took to the stairs, there was a grim look upon his face.

When Haldir met him at the top of the stone steps, the guard halted and swallowed hard. "Pardon the intrusion." He held out a missive. "You are needed at once."


	37. Peace and Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I wish to thank all my readers and reviewers, those who have clicked kudos or are subscribed to the story. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.

CHAPTER XXXVII

PEACE AND SORROW

Annalyn rounded the room for what seemed the hundredth time, her gaze flitting about the furniture, the walls as her boots whispered over the floorboards.

Haldir had been gone for a good while, certainly longer than expected.

At length, as her feet brought her to the front entrance, her shoulder coming to rest against the threshold, Annalyn looked out in hopes of seeing him, but the footbridge was vacant. So was the the staircase beyond.

"Haldir, where are you?" she whispered after a time, and hoped all was well. _What could be keeping him?_

Thinking she might see for herself, Annalyn left the house, braving the high footbridge to reach the winding stairs. Good thing she was feeling better, for the walkway was unnervingly high. That being said, it did not seem so bad this time around. Before she knew it, Annalyn had reached the staircase. A few steps into her descent, she noted that someone was climbing up, an elf-woman with dark brown hair.

"Glirwen?"

As she neared, it became clear that the baker had been looking for her. Alas, the language barrier remained.

As Glirwen said something in the elven-tongue, gesturing toward the terrace then the forest beyond, Annalyn listened as best she could, but scarcely understood a word.

"Haldir?" she asked, having caught his name. As for the rest… Annalyn had to shake her head. "I am sorry, but I do not understand."

Glirwen's shoulders sagged a little. Disheartened, she looked all around, as if looking for help, until she spotted someone in a neighbouring tree. The baker perked up at once. "Taerion!" she said and waved him over.

Puzzled, the golden-haired Elf slowed to see who had called. Once he saw them, he promptly made for another footbridge—one that linked the two _mallyrn_ together—and disappeared on a section of stair somewhere below their feet.

As he climbed the spiral staircase and came into view, Annalyn recognized him from earlier in the day—the young Elf from the market.

Upon reaching them, he listened with open curiosity as Glirwen explained, " _Ú-bed edhellen_." She motioned to Annalyn. " _Istog peded annúnaid?_ "

Taerion's features brightened then. He gave a nod, and looked to Annalyn.

" _Mae govannen_ ," he said, "It would seem that Glirwen is in need of an interpreter."

"You speak the common tongue?" Annalyn did not mean to sound so surprised, only she had not expected for one so young to know the language.

He brought a hand to his chest. "Taerion at your service." His words were precise, but slightly accented, she noted. "I believe I saw you this morning. You were perusing the gallery with our Marchwarden." The glint in his eyes spoke of open fascination. It also made her think that he had never seen a mortal before this day.

"Indeed, I was. I am Annalyn. Well met."

With the introductions now out of the way, Glirwen relayed her message. Taerion explained, "The Marchwarden has been called away. It appears he was needed at once." He fell silent so that Glirwen might continue. As she went on, his golden hair stirred in the breeze.

"Since it is unclear when he might return," he continued. "Glirwen and her husband wish to welcome you at their table."

" _Tolo, mado, a sogo e-mereth_ ," the baker added, then looked at Taerion, who supplied, "'Come, eat, and drink of the feast', she says."

Annalyn was touched. Truly. But even as she smiled, saying, "Tell her I would be happy to join them," a twinge of disappointment filtered through her being. Then guilt arose.

 _Haldir does what he must_. She knew this, and a part of her loved him for it, but her heart sank anyway.

There was just so little time left.

And so, as she followed Glirwen and Taerion—who, it seemed, had been invited as well—Annalyn cast a long and thoughtful look toward the city, one she hoped the others would not notice. To tell the truth, Haldir's absence had struck a nervous chord within her, one that was growing more insistent the longer he was away.

Thus it was that Annalyn joined the Elves on the terrace. With a glad and humble smile, she sat at their table, blushing amid their initial surprise. But then, thanks to Taerion—the young Elf who was nearly a hundred years old—the Elves soon engaged her in conversation, timidly at first, then with growing ease.

By their eyes, Annalyn knew the Elves were highly intrigued by her presence. This, in turn, led to a rising sense of curiosity among them. With Taerion as their interpreter, some asked about Rohan. Others inquired about her travels, and the places she had seen along the way. Though she kept certain things to herself—the loss of her kin, for instance, and the harrowing nights spent near that Orc camp—Annalyn obligingly answered their queries, charmed by the gaiety in their eyes.

Out of those gathered around the table, Taerion seemed the most delighted by her company. In between bites, he peppered her with question after question, asking about the Rohirrim, the Riddermark, and what life was like over there. He was highly inquisitive, she thought, as the young tend to be. Yet it seemed unusual for an Elf, though Annalyn supposed each was unique. Perhaps Taerion was simply more curious than the others—more curious than most, she amended, for Haldir and Ithriel seemed to share the same trait, albeit in varying degrees.

Daylight began to fade. Candles were lit. As the lamps kindled one by one, Annalyn indulged her own curiosity, and turned the tables on the Elves, asking simple things like what their names were, and what they did in life. For theirs was a culture built on collaboration, where everyone seemed to have a role to play.

Of those who were gathered at the table, she learned that one was a seamstress, another a chambermaid. A bladesmith there was also, and a minstrel who, much to Annalyn's delight, offered to perform a song as their empty dinner plates were being cleared away.

Lanthir was his name, and his voice was the clearest she had ever heard, the song beautiful beyond compare. As he sang, the music seeped into her being, stirring her in ways she had not foreseen. When Annalyn closed her eyes, the Elvish words settled in the very depths of her mind. And when the song had reached its end, she was astounded to find that she had retained each and every word, as if the song itself wished to be remembered. _Elves_ , she marveled for what seemed the thousandth time.

When the minstrel regained his seat, and conversations resumed around the table, Annalyn looked at Taerion who sat across from her. A question was swirling in her mind. "What made you decide to learn the common tongue? Have you travelled abroad?"

"Not as yet, but it is my wish to venture beyond these woods someday."

It was then that Bestedir arrived, balancing a silver platter upon his upturned palm.

"Ah, dessert," Taerion beamed in anticipation.

As Bestedir moved from guest to guest, his wife quietly rounded the table, refilling each glass with skill and grace.

Having thanked their hosts, all began to eat, their forks clinking softly as conversations kindled once again.

The cake was good, better than anything she had ever tasted. As she chewed, Annalyn speared another morsel, and realised that Taerion was watching her. With pursed lips, he sat back in his chair, and narrowed his eyes at her. "Might I presume to venture a question?"

"By all means," Annalyn said between bites.

"How long ago were you begotten?"

She nearly choked on her food at that, reached for the square section of cloth that was resting over her lap.

"Forgive me." Taerion looked genuinely mortified. "I meant no offence."

But Annalyn laughed even as she coughed, then dabbed at her mouth. "No offence taken."

Relief came over his features.

"Your query simply caught me off guard." Or rather the words he had chosen to use. Begotten. Haldir had used the same expression earlier in the day. She found it rather odd, for it implied that the Elves counted one's age not from birth, but from the moment of conception. Reaching for her glass, Annalyn took a sip of cordial—miruvor it was called—before answering. "I will be eight-and-twenty before long."

Taerion blinked then broke into joyful laughter. "At last, someone who is younger than I!"

Annalyn blushed a little, but her smile was good-natured. But then, sensing she could jest with this young and jovial Elf, she arched a brow and countered, "I may be young, but at least _I_ am of age."

Taerion's laughter ended abruptly, though his mouth twitched a little. "What makes you believe I am not?"

Annalyn had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. _Because Haldir told me you weren't_ , she wanted to say but chose a silent challenge instead.

After trying and failing to look insulted, Taerion ceded by laughing some more, his cheerfulness undimmed.

Annalyn laughed, too, harder than she had laughed in a very long time. Honestly, it felt good. For a moment, she was reminded of Aldin, and the playful banter they'd so often enjoyed. Her heart grew heavier, her laughter tapering into a series of softening chuckles. How she missed her cousin, and her uncle, too.

Still, her mood remained mostly joyful.

"How ill-mannered of us." His glass halfway to his lips, Taerion nudged his head toward the other guests. "I had nearly forgotten about the others." Unable to follow their conversation, some of the Elves were openly staring at them, while the rest exchanged slightly puzzled but amused glances.

Taerion tipped his glass toward Annalyn. "If you wish to widen your circles of conversation, I suppose you will have to learn Elvish."

"I am," Annalyn asserted before admitting, "Or at least I am trying to learn." She knew some words, a few expressions. She hoped to improve. Though realistically, how much could she truly learn in a fortnight?

"A toast to your endeavours, then! May they bear fruit." Taerion raised his glass, the crystal winking in the evening light.

Inspired by his eagerness, Annalyn thought she might put her limited knowledge to use. To everyone's surprise, she engaged the Elves in Sindarin that night, haltingly and with much effort. Thankfully, Taerion helped her with her sentences, his delight bolstering her confidence. As for the Elves, they appeared to understand her. As she spoke, merriment shone in their eyes.

But eventually, as they always did, her thoughts turned to Haldir. The stars were out. He had yet to return. Disquiet grew in her being.

It was then that a newcomer came into view, an Elf she did not know. As he stepped up onto the terrace, none could miss his troubled expression.

Silence soon blanketed the open space, the collective mood changing to concern as he started for the table, walking like one that bears ill-news. Of those assembled, Glirwen and Bestedir were the first to rise. As they went to speak with the newcomer, Annalyn discerned their whispers, but nothing more.

Looking to the other Elves, she noted their distress. Of course, their sense of hearing far surpassed hers. Doubtless, they could hear all that was being said.

More of them rose, and moved to form a loose circle about the newly-arrived Elf. As he continued to speak, Annalyn's fears intensified. No longer able to stand it, she looked to Taerion. "What's happened? Do you know?"

He turned to meet her eyes, a stricken look upon his youthful face.

Then he told her.

* * *

Haldir had never gotten used to it. Nor should he.

Three of his soldiers had been wounded, casualties of an assault late last night, when Orcs had descended from the mountains, in greater numbers than usual.

Upon receiving the report, Haldir had hastened to the city gates, where a small crowd had begun to assemble following the news. There, in the gathering dusk, most had waited in silence, their fretful faces stained by the light of the setting sun.

Wearing the stoic mask required of his station, Haldir remembered the moment he had first beheld the wounded, at the visible end of the stone road surrounding the city. The healers, who had left posthaste in order to join them, had been following dutifully at their sides, Ithriel among them.

Though the wounded had been shielded from his view, Haldir had known who they were, thanks to the report he had been given beforehand. When he had first perused the missive, his heart had seized, first for his brothers—who, thankfully, were not among the wounded—then for three whose names had been scrawled on the parchment.

Stern Agoron, swift Celegon, and his brother Celondir.

Having served with them for many a long year, Haldir knew them well. Dutiful warriors they were, with good and valiant hearts.

At present, they were lying upon their litters, which had been set beneath the trees, not far from the gates—closed now. For time was of the essence, their wounds so grave, the healers had chosen not to carry them any further, at least for the time being.

As the healers laboured, the gathering crowd stood in collective silence, their expressions wavering between hope, worry, and sorrow. Among them were were Rúmil and Orophin, for the two had carried one of the litters, and now stood next to Haldir, their presence a balm to his turmoil.

"Celegon bore the worst of it," Orophin reported as he stared at his wounded friend. With clenched fists, he gritted his teeth, but somehow managed to swallow his rage. "If he succumbs in this manner..."

Haldir understood his brother's fury, for a morgul blade was a vile and evil weapon, designed to break into pieces the moment it pierced the skin. Without Elvish medicine, the evil shards would reach Celegon's heart before long, and his doom would be sealed. Not death in the usual sense—when one's spirit took to the winds, journeying westward over the foaming waves, to the silent Halls of Mandos—but something else altogether. Something far worse.

When one fell to a Morgul blade, he or she would not perish in the conventional sense. Rather, they would descend into the Shadow World, and become a Wraith. No peace. No life. Not even the mercy of death. But thraldom to evil, and the loss of one's very being.

A cry of pain pierced the air, and was soon joined by another. For Agoron and Celondir had been hit by morgul shafts—one in the arm, the other in the leg. Unlike Celegon, they were in no danger of becoming Wraiths, but their pain was excrutiating, the poison so potent, their lives were threatened all the same.

And so the healers laboured, while a silent crowd continued to gather, some near, some a little farther away. As Haldir stood to the side, watching in grim silence, Celegon gasped and seized. A darkness lay upon him. The more he descended into the Shadow World, the more his eyes lightened to a dreadful milky blue.

But hope yet remained, for he had been brought to the very heart of Lothlórien, where the light was fairest—even at night—and where shadows feared to tread. And then there were the healers.

"Hear my voice," Ithriel was saying as she bathed Celegon's wound. While the poisonous shards had been removed, shadows yet clung to the wounded soldier. By Ithriel's knees sat a bowl of steaming water, from which issued the fresh and healing scent of _athelas_. Faint at first, but stronger now, the vapours were comforting, even at a distance. "Come back to the light."

For a moment, Haldir thought the shadow might recede. Alas, it soon tightened its hold, and Celegon seized once more, his blind stare directed at the trees above. Agoron and Celondir, for their part, were screaming, writhing in pain.

Their friends and kin stood near, their grief and fretfulness palpable in the gathering twilight. While he was not free to fully show it, Haldir secretly shared their fears and their doubts. He felt their pain, carried it upon his shoulders. _Had I been there…_ But he stopped himself.

He might not have been on the marches, but both of his brothers had been, with Orophin acting as warden in his stead. Long had his brother served on the fences, with honour and skill and a natural ability to lead. To lay blame on him would have been most unfair, for the Orcs alone were responsible. Orcs who now lay dead.

Indeed, the Galadhrim's vengeance had been swift and devastating. _Let it be a lesson_ , Haldir thought with dark satisfaction. _Filthy creatures_. More would come eventually, he knew. They always did. But the valley, he had been told, was now quiet. And with Ninael now in command, the watch of the Elves continued.

The scent of _athelas_ slowly drifted upon the air. As the healers maintained their efforts, something drew Haldir's attention—and the attention of all those who stood in vigil.

A light. Soft and pure.

Looking to its source, Haldir saw the Lady Galadriel, her gentle gaze sweeping over the forms of the three soldiers who lay nearby. Lord Celeborn had come also, his footsteps falling in tandem with hers.

As the rulers drew near, they spoke no words, but their eyes were brimming with care and compassion. For Galadriel and Celeborn cherished each and every life in Caras Galadhon. Not only that, but they greatly valued the Galadhrim, the elite soldiers who willingly risked their lives for the good of the realm.

Rounding the soldier that was nearest to her, Galadriel knelt and reached for his pale hand. Then, closing her eyes, she leaned forth to bestow a single kiss upon his brow.

The sensation was powerful and immediate. Haldir felt it. As did all the Elves who stood nearby.

For the Lady's gesture had been one of healing. As her grace descended onto him, Celegon relaxed at last. Colour returned to his eyes. The shadow was leaving, cast out by the benevolent power that now permeated the air.

Rising, Galadriel wordlessly approached the second soldier, healing him in the same manner before moving on to the third. It was a most remarkable sight, for the Lady was not in the habit of taking over for Lothlórien's healers. But given the malevolent nature of the soldiers' injuries, Haldir understood and was grateful for her healing gesture.

As he bore witness to this, Haldir felt a calm, a stillness come over him. At long last, the shadows had gone. Moved beyond words, he bowed his head, his fingers touching his brow in a gesture of absolute love and reverence. All around him, he felt the others do the same.

* * *

The terrace was all but deserted.

Following the news, most of the Elves had departed, some to their homes, while the rest had descended to the green paths below.

When Taerion had explained that three of Lothlórien's soldiers had been gravely wounded, Annalyn had discerned the sadness in his eyes, the same sadness that had blanketed those who had left the terrace. Clearly, the Elves were deeply affected by the news. Her thoughts turning to the wounded, her heart had gone out to them, and to Haldir. As a warden, she knew how much he loved and valued his soldiers. He felt responsible for them, fretted for them all. He had even admitted as much to her today.

Now when Taerion had first relayed the news, a troubling thought had suddenly come to her. "What of Haldir's brothers?" she had asked. "Orophin and Rúmil. Do you know if they are amongst the wounded?"

When Taerion had answered that they were unharmed, relief had flooded her being at once—for though she barely knew them, Rúmil and Orophin were Haldir's closest kin. Should something befall them, _it would eviscerate him_. She would know, being no stranger to such pain.

Once the long table had been cleared away, Taerion had departed as well, saying he would go to the vigil. If she was honest, a part of her had wished to accompany him, to see Haldir and lend whatever strength she could. Yet Annalyn sensed it would be a mistake. This grief, she felt, belonged to the Elves. To intrude upon it seemed wrong somehow.

Thus, she lingered on the terrace, watching and waiting as the stars shone overhead. Some time later, as Annalyn sat on the topmost step on the side of the hill, Glirwen arrived bearing a cup of herbal tea. Touched by the gesture, Annalyn thanked her, then sat by herself for a while more.

When it was clear Haldir would not return, she thought she might return to the pavilion. But then she remembered that Taerion had said the vigil was being held near the gates—a stone's throw from where she was staying.

Left with no other choice, Annalyn looked all around, and considered sleeping somewhere out here. At the foot of a tree perhaps. After all, she was used to sleeping out in the wilds. And compared to the mountains, Caras Galadhon was a veritable refuge under stars. Even the air was mild this night.

But even as she entertained the idea, Annalyn discerned movement on the path below. An elf-woman, with a satchel hanging from her shoulder.

"Wait…" Annalyn squinted and set her cup down. _Is that my satchel?_

Turns out it was.

Alas, the elf-woman—whom Annalyn now recognized from tonight's dinner—did not speak the common tongue. As the maid climbed the steps, Annalyn tried to recall her name. Tellil or Telliel, she couldn't quite remember. When she first approached, issuing a Sindarin greeting, the Elf walked on ahead, in a wordless invitation for Annalyn to follow.

Puzzled, she did just that, leaving her tea cup upon a cart by the kitchens as she hurried after her. Only when they had reached the very top of the spiral staircase did the maid speak, uttering the words slowly and haltingly, as one who had simply memorised the sounds. "Haldir regrets… the inconvenience, but feels it would be best if you… remained hither for the night." Now she paused, as one who has forgotten the words. "Many Elves. You… no sleep."

As the maid continued forth, making straight for Haldir's home, Annalyn faltered mid-step and blinked. "Hither? What here?" Trying not to look so stunned, she promptly followed, her eyes widening even more when the Elf fetched a fresh set of sheets from a cleverly concealed cupboard against the wall. With the bed linens in hand, she then started up the staircase leading up to his room, presumably to re-make the bed.

Annalyn's mouth fell open. She had to snap it shut again.

When the room upstairs was in readiness, the maid descended once more, but as she went to leave, wishing her a good night, Annalyn caught the wonder in her eyes. But then, Lothlórien's Marchwarden had just invited a woman—an outsider—to reside in his home for the night. That he was not actually staying with her might be a small detail in the maid's eyes.

Indeed, Haldir had once explained that it was long since a mortal had walked freely in Caras Galadhon, and even longer since one had been invited to an elven home. Such was the way in Lothlórien. Inns did not exist here, for the Elves were insular, the Naith off limits to travellers. But that being said, his people were not discourteous either. If an outsider did gain entry, and was deemed worthy of welcome, the Elves would provide all that was needed—things such as food, blankets, and a pavilion to sleep in—at least for a time. But generally speaking, their hospitality went no further than this, for the people of Lórien had grown wary of the outside world and those who were not of their kindred.

The woman departed much as she had arrived, quietly and unobtrusively. As Annalyn tried to absorb this sudden turn of events, she gazed after the Elf, and briefly wondered about the rumours that might arise. But then she remembered that Haldir was well-regarded in the realm, respected. No, if he had asked this woman to see her to his home, he must have trusted her discretion. Annalyn would do the same.

Not quite knowing what to do with herself, she turned and pondered the inside of the house.

Save for the rustle of swaying curtains and the gentle sounds of the night, all was quiet and still.

"Well then," Annalyn said then wondered what she should do now.


	38. In the Waning Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks go out to my readers and reviewers. Your continued interest has meant the world to me. 
> 
> Random side note: If this story had a soundtrack, this chapter's song would be "Interlude" by London Grammar. I must have listened to it a hundred times while writing this part.

**CHAPTER XXXVIII**

**IN THE WANING NIGHT**

Annalyn's boot remained fixed on the fourth step, her eyes riveted on the hidden space above.

Haldir's bedroom was up there, and though he wanted her to stay in his home, to venture into his personal space seemed rather intrusive, if not downright intimate.

Fidgeting with the strap of her satchel, Annalyn chewed her bottom lip, and felt her heart quicken. For a moment, she considered sleeping on the lounging couch, but then decided it might be discourteous. Indecision gnawed at her, yet she willed her feet to move. With quiet footsteps, she scaled the curved staircase until the side of a cupboard came into view, followed by the room itself.

Her feet slowed to a stop.

The space was clean and beautiful, bathed in lamplight. In addition to the cupboard, it contained a wooden chair, and an elegant bed—his bed—with a curved headboard, crisp pillows, and beautiful white bedding.

Stepping further into the room, Annayn turned on the spot. The walls were pale, the ceiling veined and vaulted like the rest of the house. A door there was also, next to the cupboard. Her best guess was that it led to a privy. Looking to the far end of the room, past the swaying curtains, she descried another balcony, smaller than the one below, but with a rail this time.

Given the easterly view, she reckoned the space would be filled with light in the morning, the rays seeping through the white curtains to warm not only the bed, but the entire room as well.

Her chin dipped downward, a reluctant but yielding smile finding light on her lips. Reticent or not, she had to own that the room was perfect.

Sending her silent thanks to Haldir, Annalyn set her satchel upon the bed. But as her fingers brushed the bedding, her mind betrayed her, conjuring a maddening image of him in said bed, his fair skin made even fairer in moonlight, his strong and noble features softened by elven dreams.

Rather annoyed with her wayward thoughts, Annalyn heaved a sigh, but that only made things worse, for his scent lingered here, too. _Gracious_ … What that Elf did to her.

Annalyn plopped down on the edge of the bed, pressed the heels of her hands to her eye-sockets. _You must cease this_. After all, he was most likely hurting right now, fretting or grieving for his soldiers. Another breath, followed by a brief glance around the room, and she let herself fall backwards.

His bed was a cloud, her back, neck, and shoulders finding immediate rest. Not so for her thoughts, however. As they swirled around whatever was happening near the gates, concern welled in her being once more. In truth, she was worried as well—for the soldiers, but mostly for Haldir.

It was late. Later than the time she usually went to bed. Yet despite the long hours of the day, Annalyn felt restless. Eyes on the ceiling, she blew out a breath.

Sleep would not come easy this night.

* * *

"What a wretched day." Rúmil dragged a tired hand over his face as he exited the home of Celegon, with Haldir and Orophin following behind. "The first of many, I wager. Curse the Orcs!" Frustrated, he swept his boot over a fallen leaf. "And curse this coming war." In four strides, the youngest brother had reached the edge of the _talan_ , where he stopped to look out into the night, with his bow hanging by his side.

Wearied by the events of the day, Haldir stopped just outside the dwelling to cast a lingering look at the wounded soldier sleeping inside. _Rest well, my friend_. Given the severity of his wound, Celegon had been fortunate in a sense. But thanks to the healers, the Lady Galadriel, and perhaps even by the grace of the Valar, Celegon and his brother Celondir would live. So would Agoron. The road to recovery, however, would be a long one.

After the three soldiers had been carried from the gates to their respective homes, Haldir and his brothers had visited them each in turn, to stand vigil and support their kin, lending whatever strength they could.

Now Haldir remained in the doorway, staring past the main room, into the softly-lit chamber beyond, where Celegon's mother could be seen, watching over her slumbering son, her wearied features vacillating between sorrow and relief. Celegon's father, for his part, was in the neighbouring house, at his youngest son's bedside. Brave Celondir.

As Haldir finally stepped outside, Ithriel's words floated in the stillness, just loud enough to hear. "I cannot leave just yet, for Celegon will need more medicine ere the night is over. But you should go home," Ithriel was saying to Orophin, her hand resting against his cheek as they stood off to the side. "Take some rest. Sleep if you can."

When Orophin acquiesced with a nod and a tender kiss to her brow, Ithriel briefly closed her eyes. As the wedded pair lingered in this fashion, Haldir could not miss the love and gratefulness on Ithriel's face. He understood why. Like all who served on the fences, her husband could very well have been injured. Or worse.

As Orophin bid his wife good night, Ithriel leaned back against a column, crossed her arms, then looked to Haldir and Rúmil. "The same for the both of you. It has been a long night."

Heeding Ithriel's words, Haldir and Rúmil followed after Orophin. But as they passed her by, Ithriel looked away from her husband's retreating form, and turned her gaze on Haldir. _Watch over him_ , her eyes seemed to say.

His hand settled on her shoulder. Haldir gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. _You know I always do_.

And so, with the night's events weighing on his shoulders, Haldir left the _talan_ , and started along the footbridge that would lead them home. With Rúmil walking alongside him, it was not long before they caught up with Orophin. Presently, the middle brother wore his guilt like a shroud. Haldir could see it. So could Rúmil, who said, "You mustn't be so hard on yourself. You might have been in command, but there was nothing you could have done. Tell him, Haldir."

"Rúmil is right," Haldir said, though he understood his brother's guilt, and often shared it. "You are blameless in this."

Orophin slowed to a stop. On a wry chuckle, he countered, "Says the warden who carries every command and every outcome. You know it as well as I. As different as we appear to be on the surface, we are cut from the same cloth you and I." Sadness crossed his features once again. To both of his brothers, he said, "So please allow me my guilt. At least on this night."

As Orophin resumed his walk, Rúmil opened his mouth to call after him, but Haldir stopped him with a murmured, "Let him be."

As their brother retreated into the distance, Haldir and Rúmil chose an alternate route. The footbridges were all but deserted, the treetops uncommonly quiet this time of night. At least until Rúmil glanced down and noticed something.

"Ah, curses! One of Orcs nicked my bow." Dismayed, he surveyed the damage—a small scratch just above the grip—and ground his teeth. "Filthy creatures."

While the nick could be treated with linseed oil, Haldir understood his brother's ire, for the bows of the Galadhrim were special in a number of ways. Made with the wood of _mallyrn_ and strung with elf-hair, they were a symbol of merit, given only to those who had earned their place among the realm's elite fighting force.

With a sigh of annoyance, Rúmil slung his bow upon his back, and kept on walking. "Last night's battle," he began after a time, "I cannot get it out of my head. This was no ordinary assault, Haldir. These Orcs were highly organised."

As troubling as this was, Haldir was not exactly surprised. The Orcs, he knew, would be looking for any and all advantage at this point. "They are testing our defences, looking for any weakness in our tactics before the real battle begins."

"Morgul shafts and morgul blades." Rúmil grimaced in disgust. "It is long since we have seen such weapons, and never from the Orcs of Moria. Do you think they came from Minas Morgul?"

"That or Mordor. You've seen the Orcs passing by our borders. They were filing in from the south."

"I do not understand, if Sauron is gathering an army, why would he lessen his ranks to fill those of Moria, Dol Guldur, and the war camp in the north?"

"What are a few thousand soldiers when he likely has a hundred thousand at his disposal?"

"That is a sobering number." For once, Rúmil actually looked disquieted.

Haldir continued, "By invading parts of the north, Sauron forces us to remain hither."

"Hemming us in. It is a sound plan, I suppose."

If the Elves could not come to the aid of Gondor or Rohan, the easier it would be for Sauron to crush the world of Men, and all of Middle-earth.

The two fell silent. As they veered northward, onto a railed pathway lined with potted ferns, Rúmil said, "What now?"

"We continue our preparations and brace for war. But if Mordor or Minas Morgul are supplying poisoned shafts and blades to the hordes of Moria, the Lord and the Lady are not likely to let that stand."

Rúmil squared his shoulders. "If that is the case, and our next move is to disrupt their supply line, then count me in."

Haldir huffed a small laugh. "Ever eager to plunge into the fray, I see."

"What can I say, I aim to serve. For Lothlórien," he said, and swept a gaze all around. "The land of blossoms dreaming."

The two were nearing their home tree when Rúmil broached another subject. "I thought you should know, there has been much talk among the soldiers of late."

When Rúmil hesitated, Haldir stopped to face him. Somehow, he sensed what his brother was going to say.

Rúmil continued, "With all that has happened, and the sorrows that lie ahead, there are some who think it might be time to heed the call... That perhaps, the time has come for us to join our kindred in the West."

Haldir's heart constricted, for though he had guessed rightly, it was the one thing he was not prepared to hear. Indeed, a similar exodus had occurred a thousand years ago, when the Balrog had awoken in the mountains, striking fear into the hearts of those who dwelt in the Golden Wood.

But for Haldir, the idea of leaving Lothlórien, the only home he had ever known, was more than he could bear at the moment. Yet he had heard it said many times. It had been foretold long ago, that the time of the Elves was nearly over, and those who refused the journey to the Undying Lands would diminish and fade.

Unwilling to dwell on that future, Haldir sidestepped. "No matter the time that is left to us, Lothlórien has yet to diminish. It remains. And so long as it endures, I will defend it."

Rúmil seemed to take heart at that. "Somehow, I thought you might say this. Come what may, know that I will stand with you, brother. To the very end."

Touched by his brother's devotion, Haldir clasped a heavy hand over his shoulder. "You are a good soldier, Rúmil. Foolhardy at times, but worthy of the Galadhrim. I am proud to serve alongside you."

Rúmil clasped his arm in turn, and flashed an easy smile.

Their discussion at an end, the two resumed their walk. As Rúmil's home came into view, he said, "I raided Bestedir's cellars not that long ago, and found a most excellent case of wine. So potent, it took but one glass to numb my fingers. Bestedir insisted I take the entire crate. For some reason, he does not care for it."

Haldir's brows shot toward his hairline. "Somehow, I doubt a good wine should numb your fingers." _At least not with one glass_.

"Perhaps numb is too strong a word. It was but a slight tingle. I promise, the wine is quite flavourful. By the time I finished the bottle, I was feeling quite cheery. And _that_ , dear brother, is precisely what we need this night. Each a bottle or two, and a game of dice, just to forget our woes. What say you?"

"As tempting at that sounds, I believe I will pass on your offer of dubious wine."

Rúmil laughed. "Craven."

Now it was his turn to smile. "Good night, Rúmil."

As this one started toward his home, he looked back to wave good night. But then something caught his gaze. Perplexed, Rúmil halted and peered into the night. "Who is that on your _talan_?"

As recognition dawned on Rúmil's features, Haldir followed his brother's gaze, and saw a familiar figure in the distance. Given the lateness of the hour, he would have thought Annalyn would have been sleeping by now. But sure enough there she was, sitting cross-legged on a bench by the door, her eyes bent on her scabbard as she ran an oiled cloth over the worn leather. Her fair features were soft but focused, and a wavy lock of her hair had fallen loose from her braid, the strand brushing against her cheek as it stirred in the breeze.

"Is she staying with you?" Rúmil sounded rather stunned.

Haldir looked to his brother once more. "She is staying in my home, yes. Just for the night. But in answer to your query, no, I will not be staying with her."

Rúmil pursed his lips. "I never thought I would be the one to say this, but I wish you would be more cautious around her."

"You need not be concerned." Haldir stated. "I know what I am doing."

"Do you?"

Irked by his brother's challenge, Haldir faced him fully, but held his tongue. For though he was loathe to admit it, Rúmil was probably right to doubt him. Because the sad truth was, Haldir had not the faintest idea what he was doing. Counter to good judgment, he had grown incredibly close to Annalyn—closer than he should given their differences.

"It is late," Haldir told his brother. "I shall see you in the morning."

Knowing he had met a wall, Rúmil backed up a step, but stared disapprovingly at Haldir's home. "Play with fire if you will, but do not forget… She is not bound to this world." When their eyes met once more, Rúmil drove his point home. "We, on the other hand, are."

And so it was that after a long and challenging night, the brothers parted ways. With Rúmil's bitter words clanging in his mind, Haldir scaled the upper staircase until he had reached the footbridge that led to his own dwelling. Given his turmoil, perhaps a visit was not the wisest course. But the sight of Annalyn had lightened his heavy heart, and he found himself going to her, startling her out of her thoughts when he spoke. "The night is late, yet here you are."

Annalyn looked up at once, and laughed softly in embarrassment. "Haldir." She abandoned her task and rose. As he neared, a shadow of worry took shape in her eyes. "I was told about your soldiers, that some were wounded. Are they well?"

"It could have gone ill," he allowed. "But they shall be. At present they are resting. Ithriel and the other healers will tend to them throughout the night."

"I am relieved to hear it." A brief silence ensued. Despite the mildness of the air, Annalyn crossed and rubbed her arms. Softly, she asked, "And what of you? You must be weary."

He was, but he smiled faintly all the same. "Given the late hour, I expected you would be, too."

"Sleep eludes me." She pointed over her shoulder, indicating his home. "I have not yet gone to bed. If you wish to retire, I can easily fetch a blanket and curl up just about anywhere."

Haldir raised a gracious palm. "My invitation stands. Besides, I do not intend to sleep this night." Instead, he meant to climb even higher toward the tree-tops, where he hoped to find peace and solace beneath the stars.

"I see." Something caught her eye, and she rose on her toes to see past his shoulder. "Your brother is in the city?"

Turning, he saw that Orophin was headed home at last.

"They both are," Haldir said by way of answer. "They will remain hither for a few days, until I leave for the marches. Then we shall make the journey together."

"I was happy to learn they were well." By these words, Haldir guessed that she had inquired about their wellbeing. His heart gladdened once more.

When her gaze returned to his, her smile was kind, her hazel eyes sparkling in the light of the lamps. Even so, while he wished he could spend more time with her, Haldir had not forgotten the lateness of the hour. "I suppose I should leave you to your sleep." Fingers hooked behind his cloak, Haldir bowed as he took a single step back, and bid her a good night.

But as he turned to leave, Annalyn said his name. When he found her eyes again, she said, "Since you do not plan on sleeping, perhaps you would care to join me?" Her shoulder rose on a shrug, yet Haldir caught the hint of colour in her cheeks. "I thought I might sit for a little while."

The idea was most pleasing to him. Therefore, as he agreed and came forth, Annalyn stepped aside and they both entered the house, leaving the night behind.

* * *

But the night beckoned once more.

As Annalyn and Haldir stepped inside the house, they lingered not, but crossed the length of the room, passing through the open archway to emerge on the east-facing balcony outside. There, Haldir helped her to sit on the very edge of it, boasting that it offered the second-best view in all the city.

"And what is the first?"

"I would rather not say, for I might show you ere you depart."

With lingering mirth, and quite a few butterflies in her stomach, Annalyn beheld the surrounding trees. The sight was enchanting, matched by nothing she had seen beyond these woods. Looking down, she had to own that it was somewhat dizzying as well. Elves, it seemed, were not overly concerned with excessive heights, and therefore did not always bother with rails.

Hands braced on either side of her, Annalyn craned her neck to gaze past her dangling feet, at the path that meandered far below. "My, that is quite a fall." She quickly drew back.

"I would never allow you to fall," Haldir stated simply, and she believed him. Looking ahead, he motioned toward the great city in the trees, his dark blue eyes catching the light of the lamps when he asked, "Tell me, is it all you thought it would be?"

Annalyn hummed in affirmation, and thought back on all she had seen today.

"It is strange." Her chest lifted on a thoughtful sigh. "I am here, seeing all of this with my own eyes, and yet a part of me thinks it is but a dream… Lothlórien." She laughed softly, her gaze rising toward the heavens. "Ah, grandfather, if you saw me now, what would you say? He who told such fanciful tales. Surely, he would not have believed it."

As childhood memories flitted through her mind, Annalyn smiled to herself until Haldir spoke.

"The days are passing swiftly. Soon you will depart." Her heart clenched at that. It was likely his did, too. "What will you do upon your return?"

"Truthfully?" She gave it some thought. "I have not yet decided. I know that war is brewing. That it is a treacherous time. Yet a part of me thinks I should do as I have always done—wander the mountains in search of healing herbs, which are always needed, especially in times of war. But I shall see." Annalyn pursed her lips. "I suppose it will depend on whether or not I find someone brave enough, or mad enough, to accompany me." Then came an afterthought, _I could always go alone_.

"What of you?" she began, turning the tables on him. "What will you do following all of this?"

He shrugged. "Supposing we are victorious—"

"You shall be." Her confidence netted a rare smile.

Haldir continued. "I suppose I, too, shall do as I have always done. Guard the realm…" He seemed pensive all of a sudden, eyes lost in a faraway gaze. "For as long as it endures."

Though he was adept at hiding his feelings, there was a definite air of sorrow about him. _He frets for the realm_. But then Lothlórien was his everything. She saw it on his face, and in all that he did. Indeed, there was no question that he would fight to the very end in order to save this city and all those he loved.

Her heart seized at the thought, but then went out to him. "It will endure," she murmured. "How could it not? Look at this place! It is nothing short of magical."

Haldir smiled a little at that, but when he turned to the city once more, a trace of doubt remained—that or a secret knowledge he had yet to impart.

Not knowing what else to say, Annalyn sat long in silence, until movement caught her eye.

Elves. Seven of them.

Tall and graceful, they were crossing a high footbridge, over yonder between the trees. Even from afar, Annalyn could see that the Lady Galadriel was among them.

"The Lady and her handmaidens," Haldir supplied in a voice pitched soft and low.

To see them walking slowly and silently beneath the boughs was most calming. Unlike the maidens, the Lady's features were luminous, swathed in moonlight. "Not moonlight," Annalyn whispered to herself, and straightened her spine without tearing her eyes away.

It was a remarkable sight. There was a glow about her, ethereal and surreal, that came not from the moon, nor from the lamps.

Haldir must have guessed her thoughts, for he explained, "The Lady is Calaquendi. It is what we call the Elves of Light. She resided aforetime in the Blessed Realms, beyond the Sundering Seas, where her eyes beheld the light of the Two Trees, holiest of things that ever existed in Arda." His voice faded somewhat. "Though they are no more."

Annalyn did not quite understand, but awed she was, her gaze trailing after the elven ruler as she walked onwards, gradually veering toward the east. Earlier that day, when she had first beheld the Lady Galadriel, Annalyn had noted a brilliance about her, but with the morning light upon them, she had believed it to be a trick of the sun. Now she was not so sure. "The light… How?"

"A part of her lives there still." It was a strange notion, rather beyond her grasp.

"Why did she leave?"

His chest rose on a soft but lingering sigh. "It is a long and sorrowful tale. Far too long and much too complicated for this night."

"Ah." Her gaze returned to the Lady and her maidens. "The Blessed Realms," she said, trying and failing to envision such a place.

"Aman it is called." Unless her ears were cheating her, there was sorrow in his words, and longing. She wondered why.

Their eyes met again. Annalyn asked, "Have you ever been there?"

Haldir merely shook his head. When he looked to the Elves once more, Annalyn did the same. Before long, the Lady faded from view. "They are beautiful," she said, smiling wistfully as the last of the maidens retreated in the distance.

Haldir's gaze was on her. She felt the weight of it, and then…

"As are you." Three words, earnest and profound, that stole the air out of her lungs.

Her mouth slightly agape, Annalyn looked sidelong at him, her hand absently rising to touch her hair. Haldir had called her beautiful. Haldir who did not say such things. He who was more fair than any man her eyes had seen.

Her heart quickened, in defiance of the little voice that warned her not to read too much into this. But Haldir had not moved, nor did he speak. His sapphire eyes remained fixed onto hers.

He had lowered the mask, it seemed. A rare display of the emotions beneath. Warmth, she saw, and fondness, layered over a deeper and more poignant emotion. Yearning, she realised, and felt the same.

 _How easy it would be_ , she thought, her hand rising, almost of its own volition. _How easy it would be to give in_. To narrow the gap and seek his warmth and profess all that she felt—gracious how she wanted to, but somehow restrained herself, at least in part.

Without being aware of it, her hand had risen to graze the side of his face. At her touch, Haldir closed his eyes. He was so incredibly still, his cheek warm and smooth, and when her fingers moved to his brow, gingerly following the elegant arch, he loosed a long, shuddering breath.

An answering touch moved along her forearm then, and she realised that he had sent his hand in search of her own. Strong fingers rose to slide over the bones of her hand, between the grooves of her knuckles. When his digits curled between hers, she watched with bated breath as he turned to bestow a heartfelt kiss on the pulse-point of her wrist.

The contact roused and devastated her. Her heart soared and broke all at once.

Annalyn loved him. She loved him with such profundity, her heart ached with it. And while Haldir had never said so in words, he was telling her now, in his own way. In defiance of the promise they had made to themselves, he was losing his heart to her, a mortal.

"Annalyn." A whisper laced with anguish, his breath gusting against her wrist. As tears veiled her sight, Haldir regretfully lowered her forearm. But then his hand rose again, his fingers sweeping the side of her face, the caress ending as he tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Unable to help herself, Annalyn trembled and leaned into his retreating touch, prolonging the contact.

Haldir was a contradiction; a fierce warrior with a gentle heart and an even gentler touch. Tonight, the love in his eyes was clear and tangible, beautiful yet agonizing, too. For knowing and feeling was not enough—it could never be. Indeed, nothing could change the reality of who and what they were.

To see him so disarmed, his yearning and his sadness bared to her eyes, was heart-rending beyond compare. But harder still was hearing the broken words that followed.

" _Nínion ne mened gîn_."

In choosing Sindarin, Haldir had spilled his heart thinking she wouldn't understand. But strangely, Annalyn did not need to, for she sensed his meaning somehow.

Haldir was heartbroken, for the same reason that she was. Their story had nearly reached its end, before it could ever begin. It never would.

Her breath hitched, then one of her tears slipped free. As it rolled down her face, Haldir swept her cheek with the pad of his thumb. When another tear followed in its wake, he leaned forth to press his perfect lips to the salty trail. And there, he lingered.

Before her mind could fully catch up, he had nuzzled his way to her jawline, and was inching ever closer to the corner of her mouth. _Good gracious me…_ When his lips were a hairsbreadth away from hers, Haldir paused and sought her eyes. He was waiting for her permission, she realised, his breath quickening in time with hers.

"Haldir…" A mere whisper, uttered as she nuzzled into him, assenting to his unspoken request because she desired this, too. More than he could know.

Her nose grazed his cheek, soft and smooth. He smelled divine, his scent as intoxicating as the way his lips were now brushing against hers. With a feather-light graze, he honed in on her bottom lip, capturing it softly, once, twice, before releasing again. Before she knew it, his mouth was pressed fully to her own.

Eyes closed, pulse thrumming, Annalyn fisted the front of his tunic, and lost herself in the feel of his lips. In many ways, their kiss was similar to the one she had bestowed upon him late one night by a campfire out in the wilds of Rhovanion. Except now the roles were reversed. _He_ was kissing her.

When his tongue darted out, sweeping the seam of her mouth, Annalyn thought her heart might falter. Opening to him, she swallowed the groan he gave, tasting him like she had long desired to.

Lush was the kiss. Slow. Sensual. Perfect.

The moment was maddening, devastating in its quiet simplicity. Not to mention arousing. But then, he would have that effect on her. Haldir stirred her on a visceral level after all, in a way no one ever had—not even Wilmaer

His full lips were even softer than she remembered, his tongue oh so velvety.

Amazed by this sudden turn of events, Annalyn returned the kiss with equal measure and felt her entire body go weak. To keep from melting, she laced her arms around his neck, and held on. She was spinning—or at least it felt that way. Her entire body came alive, like glowing embers bursting into sudden flame. Responding in kind, his arm snaked around her waist, drawing her closer. Their lips parted. They were both breathing hard. _What are we doing?_ she thought, but could not bring herself to ask. Gracious, how she desired this. Desired _him_.

Brow to brow, each sought to slow their breathing. _Stay_ , she almost begged. _Spend the night with me._ But Annalyn held her tongue.

They couldn't. They shouldn't.

Haldir swallowed hard, echoing her doubts when he said, "I should go before I don't." The strain in his voice conveyed how badly he wished to stay. It nearly undid her.

He was right, though. This had to end here.

Haldir was immortal. He was Elf-kind.

Regardless of their wants and wishes, they could never share a life together, not in the conventional sense. If their resolve was to fail, and they surrendered to their feelings, she might never gather the courage to let him go. And then what? In a few short decades, time would have caught up with her. And when the vibrancy of her youth had faded into memory, Haldir would remain as he was now; fair and resilient of body, but with added sorrow in his heart.

 _Why?_ she wondered, not for the first time. _Why must the fates be so cruel?_ At their behest, their paths had collided not once but twice in this wide world. Haldir: a friend unlooked for but most cherished. And then she had fallen for him, madly, deeply, in counter to wisdom. Thinking on it now, it seemed that it would have been easier if their paths had not crossed at all. And yet, even with the fracturing of her heart, Annalyn could not bring herself to regret their meeting.

 _I love you_ , she thought, quite miserably. _I love you, but I will never have you_.

If only her heart had listened.

When the two had first discussed their changing feelings—late one evening, when she had sat by him in a tree—Annalyn had vowed to quell what was in her heart, for loving an Elf would only lead to despair. Alas, as much as she had tried to dampen her feelings, her love for Haldir had only intensified, and continued to blossom here as they were.

Sorrow besieged her, and as they sat there, in the void of their making, Annalyn saw the same musings on his downcast features, in the pained crease of his brows.

"Tonight… you and I alone like this…" She shook her head. Her throat tightened even as she spoke. "It was ill-conceived. I am sorry."

"Nay," he breathed without hesitation, grasping her hand and holding it over his heart. "I wished to be here." Pain flashed on his shuttered features. "I… _needed_ to be here." After the night he'd had—almost losing three of his soldiers, bearing witness to their suffering...

Haldir had needed comfort and solace, and he had found both of those things with her. Humbled and moved beyond measure, Annalyn swallowed the lump in her throat.

Wordlessly, Haldir eased away from her, and helped her to her feet. When, at last, he released her fingers, the two merely stood there, a silent exchange seeming to pass between them.

 _If things were different_ … his eyes seemed to say.

 _I know_ … hers responded in turn.

A short while later, when she climbed up to his room, and slipped into his empty bed, Annalyn dreamed of him, seeing them as they had been out on that balcony. But in her dreams, instead of walking her back inside and bidding her good night, as he had, Haldir's dream-self pulled her to him and kissed her, deeply and passionately, before sweeping her into his arms and taking her to his bed.

* * *

_*Nínion ne mened gîn –_ _"_ _I cry upon your leaving."_


	39. From Afar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I need to thank all my readers and reviewers. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.

CHAPTER XXXIX

FROM AFAR

Haldir had not moved in a while, not since he had climbed up here. Cloaked and hooded, he stood in the shadows of his hidden refuge, in the topmost reaches of the tree he called home. Except for the leaves, all was quiet up here, for there were no dwellings at this height, no paths, no lamps, only a small _talan_. His _talan_ , that he had built with his own two hands, many summers ago.

His features bathed in the predawn light, Haldir was only vaguely aware of the expansive sky above the platform. For though he had not intended to, his wearied mind had fallen into slumber, and was now weaving a dream before his half-waking eyes.

The vision was soft and partly transparent, an imaginary moment unfolding before the fading stars.

_He was scaling the steps to his room, with Annalyn held securely in his arms. Her fingers were in his hair, her arms laced about his neck. Their mouths were fused in a kiss even as he climbed._

_A bright flash. The image changed, a leap in time as it were._

_Haldir was kneeling upon the bed, clad in nothing but his leggings. As for Annalyn, she was yet clothed, but like him, her boots and socks had been discarded and forgotten. Presently, she was straddling him, the wild mass of her hair spilling over his upturned face as she caressed his bare shoulders and kissed him fully. In her eagerness, her nails pressed into his skin, leaving half-moons in their wake._

_With a graceful sweep of her head, Annalyn flung her hair to the side, revealing both their faces. Oh, the want in them. As she moved to cradle his jaw, sighing his name against his ravenous mouth, Haldir pulled her even closer. Hands moving to the hem of her tunic, he drew it up an inch, then two, his fingers skimming the smooth skin beneath._

And so the dream enveloped him, overruling his reality until he reminded himself that this was but a vision, a figment of his imagination. Disappointment washed over him. But as the dream unfurled, tempting him beyond belief, guilt asserted itself, too. "You cannot be thinking this," he whispered to himself.

 _The dream-version of Annalyn sank back against the pillows, her hair fanned out around her as she framed his face and drew him down to meet her lips_.

But elven-dreams being what they were, Haldir was still cognisant of where he was and what his mind was doing. _You are not wed to her_. _You should not do this, even in thought._ Ah, but after last night, and the lingering kiss they had shared _…_ Heat shot straight to his groin. Even now, he yearned to have her _._ His hands closed into fists. _You must awake… awake._

This time, his mind listened.

When Haldir gradually returned to himself, a faint ribbon of light was visible over the eastern horizon, ushering the beginning of a new day. Alone and oddly bereft, he stood long in thought, trying to make sense of this most unusual dream.

Of course, he had experienced similar dreams before, many centuries ago when he had loved another, but never so daring, never so intense, and never so… _real_.

His thoughts in a spinning freefall, Haldir blinked to clear his dream-addled mind. And then he willed his feet to move. At the edge of the _talan_ , he peered through the leaves, at his home down below. The east-facing balconies were vacant, the curtains closed. Yet he could sense that Annalyn was there, that she was sleeping. Once again, he was aware of her emotions—feelings of contentment and longing that lapped against his mind. She was dreaming, then.

Given the bridge that had formed between them, Haldir couldn't help but wonder if he had dreamed of her, or if he had dreamed _with_ her.

Having heard of such bonds, he knew it was possible, at least amongst his kindred. But with a mortal?

Caught between amazement and distress, Haldir looked inward, and searched for the truth. When the answer failed to materialise, he turned his gaze to the sky, not knowing what to think or how to feel, while all around him the breeze lessened and the leaves grew still.

* * *

Annalyn awoke sometime during the morning.

As she lay on her stomach, her arms curled about her feather pillow, she squinted against the sunlight before shutting her eyes again. At length, she raised her head on a long inhalation, blinked a few times. When the room came into focus, so too did her awareness.

This was not the pavilion.

Limbs sliding between soft sheets, Annalyn turned onto her back, and propped herself up. So she had not dreamt it. She was truly here, in Haldir's home, in his bedchamber.

In his bed.

As yesterday's events coalesced, she gazed all about her, mouthed a silent _oh_.

At length, when she flopped back down, Annalyn thought of the previous night, and the unforeseen events that had led to her sleeping here. Even now, she remembered those hours of waiting, and the moment she had first beheld Haldir upon his return. Weary he had seemed, and burdened. And yet, as he had walked up to see her, there had been gladness in his eyes.

Staring at the ceiling, Annalyn recalled those tender moments on the balcony—that kiss! And then there was that vivid dream she had had shortly thereafter.

Her cheeks growing hot, she bit her bottom lip, and closed her eyes. As her blood quickened in her veins, Annalyn reached for the second pillow, and covered her face with it. At first, she groaned into the pillowcase, but the sound ended on a choked and piteous laugh.

Her sleeping mind had betrayed her during the night, mocking her heartache with a series of bone-melting dreams. As the images returned once more, Annalyn set the pillow aside, and sighed. Eyes closed, pulse thrumming, she laid a hand over her heart, and allowed the images to unfold, seeing winding touches that never were, hearing feverish declarations that never would be.

"Haldir…" she breathed and shook her head.

Without meaning to, something had changed during the long hours of the previous day. Before either of them had realised, they had inched over the invisible line, wordlessly revealing some, if not all, of what they felt.

Of those moments, some were rather subtle, like that moment by the serving cart, in the room below this one. " _Gracious, I am going to miss you_ ," she had said to him then.

But last night…

 _Last night_ … She swallowed hard.

Annalyn was no stranger to kissing. But that kiss far surpassed anything she had ever experienced in her life. If she had ever doubted it, Annalyn knew it now. Beneath his guarded exterior, Haldir had molten fire in his veins. And gentleness.

As tears gathered beneath her eyelids, Annalyn saw them as they had been on that balcony, the two of them locked in a maddening moment beneath the stars.

The memory was now etched into her mind—the way Haldir had kissed her wrist, her cheek, then finally her mouth, with such reverence she had thought she might never breathe again. But as poignant and rousing as the moment had been, each understood that they had pushed as far as they could, as far as was wise. Henceforth, they would have to be more cautious, for giving in would only lead to complete and utter heartbreak.

 _Do not forget_.

"Annalyn?"

She sat up at once. It sounded like Ithriel, but until she knew for certain, Annalyn opted to grab a blanket, draping it about her sleeping-gown as she rose. Her bare feet whispering against the floorboards, she neared the western edge of the room, where the floor ended at a sudden drop, affording a wide view of the main area below.

Indeed, Ithriel stood in the front entrance. "Haldir said I would find you hither." While the healer had toiled for much of the evening—if not the entire night—her features held no trace of it. Refreshed she seemed, with a glimmer in her eyes. The curve of her mouth suggested she was intrigued. "Did you rest well?"

When Annalyn started down the stairs, answering that she had, Ithriel motioned for someone to enter, and a chamber maid walked in—the one from last night. In her hands was a tall ewer from which issued lazy curls of steam.

"I asked Tellil to fill your bath. I hope you do not mind." Ithriel walked further into the house. She was carrying a small tray, Annalyn noted, upon which were three glass bottles, and a bowl of some kind. White and gold, it was covered with a delicate lid, making her wonder what was inside.

As Annalyn descended the last few steps, her blanket trailing on the stairs behind her, Ithriel set the tray on the end of Haldir's desk. "It is midday. Did you know?"

Annalyn had gone to bed very late, it was true—before dawn rather. But midday? Annalyn looked toward the east-facing balcony. Even through the curtains, she could see that the light was coming in at a steep angle, a midday sun. The chamber maid came into view, as a silhouette walking behind the billowing fabric. When she had reached the end of the curtain, the maid re-entered the house—was the bath outside?—and made for the front entrance. A beat later, she returned with a second ewer, as tall as the first, and carried it out back. This, she repeated two more times, while Ithriel went to open the curtains, fully revealing the wide archways and the trees beyond.

"Once you have bathed," Ithriel was saying. "Orophin and I wish to welcome you to our home, so you may break your fast with us. It is long since we had a guest."

When the chamber maid had emptied the last ewer, she bid them to have a good day, and they, in turn, did the same.

Now that they were alone, Ithriel looked to Annalyn with a worried and assessing gaze this time. "Haldir mentioned that you were feeling weak yesterday."

Annalyn stifled a groan. _Not this again_. But since denying it would only add to Ithriel's concerns—and thus increase her scrutiny—she said, "I did, but the strengthening draught worked wonders." She even smiled to prove her point. "I feel well today."

Ithriel considered her with pursed lips and an upturned brow. But luckily, for a mercy, she accepted her assurances in the end. Reaching for the small tray, she faced Annalyn and held it out for her to take. Upon seeing the question in her eyes, Ithriel supplied, "Oils for your bath."

"Oh!" Feeling rather silly, Annalyn took the proffered tray. Peering down, she noticed a delicate bar of soap just behind the mysterious bowl.

"Since I could not decide between lily, violet, and snowdrop," Ithriel said in reference to the oils. "I brought all three. I assume one of them will be to your liking."

"Doubtless they are lovely."

As Annalyn carried the tray over to the dining table, Ithriel went on. "I hope it was not too presumptuous of me. Only I assumed you would rather smell like a woman than, well…" She laughed. "Haldir."

Annalyn blushed at once, and was suddenly glad to be facing away from her friend. Even now, she recalled the scent that always clung to him, that wonderful and intoxicating blend of cedarwood and cloves. That scent, she now knew, came from his cupboard. She hadn't opened it to check, but likely it issued from a packet of herbs, similar to the ones she sometimes made, to freshen her clothes and keep moths at bay. Yesterday, however, Annalyn had caught a different scent from Haldir, courtesy of the soap he used. That or a bottled fragrance. She had found it rather maddening.

But Ithriel was right. As much as she loved Haldir's scent, it was decidedly male, not to mention distracting.

Turning once more, Annalyn smiled at Ithriel, and promised to join them presently.

"It gladdens my heart!" the healer replied. "We shall wait for you at home. Look for us on our _talan_ outside."

And so it was that Annalyn gathered her things and ventured out in search of the bath. Just as she had begun to suspect, it was set at the northern end of the balcony, behind beautiful wooden partitions.

While the latticed roof lent a sheltered feel to the space, it did not hinder the natural light. Her gaze flitting about the walls and the sky beyond the leaves, Annalyn gathered her hair in a twist. Upon shedding her sleeping-gown, a warm breeze swirled past and kissed her skin.

When she sank into the water… Soothing heat. Dappled and reflected light. Pure bliss.

Leaning back, Annalyn luxuriated in all of it. But then, remembering the small tray, she uplifted the lid covering the bowl, and peered inside.

Rose petals! Hushed but delighted laughter rose in her throat.

For a fleeting instant, her thoughts went to the women of the Westfold, or more precisely those who whispered behind her back, saying she lived like a man. _If they saw me now_. This bath was fit for a queen. She chuckled again, her fingers sprinkling the petals over the water. But even as she found joy in the experience, a slight feeling of shame came over her, for the women of the Westfold enjoyed no such luxuries. And not all of them were judgemental. Some were incredibly kind.

To sit here and gloat, even in her private thoughts, felt wrong somehow. Therefore, she stopped, and chose to be thankful instead.

Her attention shifting to the glass bottles, Annalyn unstoppered each one, and quickly found a favourite. "Lilies it is." But as she washed, her gaze lingered on the other bottles that were lined nearby, the ones belonging to Haldir. Her curiosity being what it was, she chewed her bottom lip, and decided to open each of them in turn. Just to see.

The first was both heady and familiar, fresh yet comforting. It was the scent she had caught yesterday. The bottle was nearly empty, she noted. _He must favour it, then_. But the other ones were not quite full either. _He must like those also. Perhaps they are for special occasions_.

And they were pleasant, too. More than pleasant, even. The fragrances were quite maddening, to be honest. Both reminded her of an autumn wind laden with warm spices, and yet each was unique.

Resting against the porcelain incline, neck deep in the fragrant bathwater, Annalyn wondered what Haldir was doing now. Knowing him as she did, it was likely he was seeing to his responsibilities. With regret in her heart, Annalyn sat in contemplation until a small chirp drew her attention. Blinking out of her thoughts, she looked up to see a small bird alighting on the wooden partition.

Suddenly, Annalyn remembered her promise to Ithriel. She and Orophin were waiting for her. The water sloshing as she straightened, she began to scrub. _Enough dreaming and dawdling_.

* * *

" _Ídhrodh mass?_ "

Orophin was seated directly across from Annalyn, his mouth curved in welcome as he leaned forth to extend his hand. By the basket he held, she understood his offer of bread, and graciously accepted.

Though Annalyn appreciated the invitation, it felt strange to be sitting across from Orophin. Strange but nice. For barring the time he had escorted her across the Silverlode, when Cobalt had panicked and nearly been swept away, Annalyn had never really spoken to Haldir's brother. To either of his brothers, if truth be told.

At present, Orophin was buttering a slice of bread. When next he spoke, it seemed her lessons had borne fruit. She understood. "My wife and I are pleased you could join us," he said.

Encouraged, Annalyn answered as best she could, hoping they were the right words, "I am happy to be here."

Orophin smiled.

Like Haldir, he was a tall Elf, with golden hair and proud features. Yet the two looked very different also. Where his older brother had a strong nose, Orophin's was narrower. His brows were finer, too, and lighter.

As she sampled her meal—a dish of mixed greens and carrots roasted in rosemary—Annalyn kept stealing glances at him.

Their mouths were similar, she decided. But the overall shape of their faces was not. Where Haldir's cheekbones blended into a smooth and oval face, Orophin's seemed higher, more defined. An oblong face, she thought, and fair—though not as fair as his older brother's, at least in her eyes.

His style of hair was slightly different also; for though Orophin had gathered his hair in typical warrior-fashion, the upper-section was slightly parted in the middle.

The leaves rustled overhead, the sound blending with the soft clinks of cutlery. As Orophin refilled their tea cups, Annalyn speared a few greens, and continued her visual assessment.

Now as far as demeanours went, he did not seem as grave as Haldir. If anything, Orophin seemed quite affable, with a gentle bearing that belied the capable soldier beneath.

At present, he was conversing quietly with Ithriel, with a subtle but unmistakable sparkle in his eyes. By the way they spoke to one another, Annalyn could tell that they were very much in love. Watching them, she couldn't help but wonder how long they had been together. Centuries perhaps. Maybe even longer. And yet, it seemed they had not tired of the other. There was much warmth between them, and mirth.

Annalyn was glad for them both, but especially for Ithriel, whom she now counted as a dear friend. Yet a small part of her envied them also.

"Some of us are gathering on the terrace this evening," Ithriel said to her in Westron. "There will be food and music and the telling of tales." Reaching for the napkin on her lap, the healer dabbed at the corners of her mouth, then asked if Haldir has invited her already. "When duty allows, he usually attends."

"He has made no mention of it." If not for last night, and the heartache they had both felt, perhaps he would have. But as things now stood…

So Annalyn shrugged, forced a little smile. "Thus far, we have not made any plans."

"You should come."

"Perhaps. If I am not too tired."

Ithriel eyed her curiously for a moment. But if she had detected Annalyn's low spirits, she did not show it. Instead, her gaze went to the far side of the _talan_ , where Rúmil was now coming into view.

As he approached, he greeted them all with a nod, and joined them at his brother's urging.

Now to Annalyn, Rúmil had always been the most elusive of the three. But then, she seldom saw him. In fact, save for those first few days, when he and his brothers had guided her company across the forest, she had only seen him one other time. Though the word "glimpsed" seemed more appropriate.

It had been at the height of her illness, when Haldir had carried her across the forest. Rúmil had been there. She remembered seeing him, marching hastily by his brother's side.

Now he sat in the chair next to hers, his boots crossed at the ankles as he proceeded to peel the skin off an apple.

Perhaps his brother's wife found it wasteful, but when she saw this, Ithriel appeared to chide him, but not harshly. She even rolled her eyes and smiled.

For his part, Rúmil simply made a show of it. With arched eyebrows, he peeled the remainder of the apple, then set the curled sliver on his plate. Looking quite smug, he then leaned back in his chair, crossed his boots again, and took a hearty bite.

Ithriel merely shook her head at him, but her words were for Annalyn. "Please forgive his manners." She was trying and failing to hide her amusement. "He is, by far, the worst of the three."

Rúmil grinned and addressed Ithriel in Sindarin. Unless Annalyn was mistaken, his response had been along the lines of, "Yes, but you love me all the same."

Wait. Ithriel had spoken in Westron. Then how… _Does he know the common tongue?_ Baffled, Annalyn studied him for a moment more.

His grin fading, Rúmil bit into his apple, then cast a sidelong glance at her. His eyes were inscrutable—like Haldir's could be at times—but the comparison ended there. Though he was no less than a thousand years old, his features were incredibly youthful. Full were his lips, and fair was his face. Out of the three brothers, his nose was the most delicate, slightly upturned.

As she ate, Annalyn was reminded of the drawing she had seen in one of Haldir's books. Except for the smooth straightness of his hair, which he had left unbound today, Rúmil definitely took after his mother.

Soft laughter drifted from over the table. Orophin and Ithriel were too engrossed in their conversation to notice that Rúmil was now eyeing Annalyn, in a manner that struck her as rather haughty.

Discomfited and rather confused, she frowned but refused to shy away from his gaze. However, before Annalyn could make sense of his obvious disregard, the youngest brother looked to his kin, his cheeriness returning as he struck a conversation with Orophin.

_What just happened?_

True she did not know him very well, if at all. But Rúmil had never been this cold with her, this aloof. She wondered as to the cause. Perhaps he simply disliked outsiders, but had refrained from showing it until now. Or perhaps—and this seemed likeliest—his problem lay solely with her, and the fact that she had grown quite close to Haldir.

It made sense in a way. And though it saddened her, could she blame him if such was the case? Without meaning to, she had walked into their lives one day, and now his brother was hurting. Just as she was.

Her fork grazed her carrots, moving them around. _If our roles were reversed_ , she mused, and restrained her features. _If someone I loved was falling for a person who would only hurt them in the end, would I be glad? Welcoming?_ Not likely. In fact, Annalyn would almost certainly resent that person.

All the same, Annalyn was not one to be cowed by a cold shoulder—however justified—and so chose to ignore him. Yes, she and Haldir had been skirting a dangerous line. They had even crossed said line last night. But nothing had changed. She still meant to leave. And though it hurt to think of it, sooner or later, Haldir was bound to move on. Perhaps he would even find love someday, with someone who wouldn't age and die like she would. Smothering the sudden ache in her heart, Annalyn straightened her spine, and forced herself to finish her meal.

Later, when all had eaten, and the dishes had been cleared away, the two brothers left the _talan_ , while Ithriel and Annalyn lingered behind.

"I suppose I should go as well," Annalyn said to her friend, "I need to gather my things and see if I can find my way back to the pavilion. These bridges and paths are a tad confusing, but I shall remember the way. It should be an adventure, a challenge." Her mouth pulled in a grin, for she loved challenges. Moreover, if her muscles were not too tired, Annalyn thought she might even train once she arrived at the pavilion.

"Your strength has returned. It pleases me to see it. However, before you set off on your adventure, there is a thing I would like you to see." Seeing the question in Annalyn's eyes, Ithriel grabbed her arm. "Come."

A moment later, the two entered Ithriel's dwelling—a bright airy space, much like Haldir's home. The house was larger, though. From what she could see, the main level consisted of a large dining area, and what Annalyn guessed was a study of sorts, with two lounging couches off to one side. Wreathed by an ornate staircase, the open space was adorned with several plants and flowers set amid light grey furnishings, all of which were finely made.

As Annalyn stopped in admiration, her thoughts took her back to yesterday, and the moment she had first glimpsed this house from afar. Now Haldir's words echoed back to her. " _It is the home in which I was raised_."

Walking further into the space, Annalyn noted a sword displayed on the uppermost shelf of a bookcase, the polished blade as elegant as the hilt. When Ithriel noticed her interest, she explained that her husband had crafted it.

"He is a smith?"

"Not by trade," Ithriel answered. "But he is learning the craft. So is Haldir."

This information caught her completely unawares.

Ithriel laughed. "You seem surprised."

"A little, I suppose." Haldir knew his way around a smithy? She never would have guessed. As her mind supplied an image of him, hair tied back as he hammered away at a billet of steel, Annalyn found she rather liked the idea. There was something about a man—or in this case an Elf—who could work with his hands. With a final look at Orophin's work, she turned to see that Ithriel was scaling the stairs, making it clear she wished for her to follow.

Unlike Haldir's current home, the upstairs had multiple rooms, set one after the other, along a circular landing that overlooked the main area of the house.

Slowing to a stop, Ithriel waited by the third door. Her eyes atwinkle, she swept her arm in a clear invitation for her to peer inside.

It was a bed chamber, with pale wooden floors, and a four-poster bed with blue-grey bedding. On the far wall was an open-air window shaded by the end of a leafy branch. At present, the leaves were dancing in the breeze, reflecting beautiful golden light into the room.

Wandering past an elegant chest of drawers, Annalyn neared the opening, from which she could see Haldir's home. As her fingers brushed along the white curtains, Ithriel's voice reached her from the doorway, "Over the years, Orophin and I have converted some of the spare rooms to storing various things, but this chamber we kept as it was. When Rúmil was a child, this was where he slept."

Strolling into the room, the healer asked if she liked it.

"It is a beautiful space," Annalyn allowed, though she didn't quite know what else to say.

"It pleases me that you find it so. It should do nicely, then."

"Nicely for…" _What are you up to, Ithriel?_

"For you, of course." The healer laughed again. "The thought came to me early this morning. When I mentioned it to Orophin, he thought it was a lovely idea. I am quite certain Haldir would feel the same." Her voice lowered to a playful whisper. "Just between us, I do not think that he relishes the idea of you staying in a mere pavilion."

"Stay here? In Rúmil's old room?" Annalyn swept an uncertain gaze about the space.

"The pavilion is rather far," Ithriel went on. "And now that you and I are friends, it would please me greatly to have you here." The healer walked forth then, and grasped both of her hands. "Oh, do say yes. This house is quite large. Much too large for Orophin and I. When he is out on the marches, it can feel so empty at times."

Honestly, part of her wanted to decline, but seeing the guarded hope in the healer's eyes, Annalyn relented, out of courtesy mostly, and appreciation for her friend.

"Wonderful! You shall not regret it." But as Ithriel withdrew, saying she would help with her things, Annalyn hesitated by the window, and wondered how Rúmil would feel about her staying here, with his kin. He wouldn't be too keen on the idea, that was certain.

However, since his feelings were not her concern, Annalyn glanced over at the healer, and turned her focus elsewhere. "Have you seen him today? Haldir," she clarified.

Ithriel halted near the foot of the bed. She seemed intrigued. "I saw him, yes. At sun's first light. I was heading home when we crossed paths not far from the armoury. Why?"

"How did he seem?" Annalyn asked, then sidestepped a little. "I know last night was difficult for him, and his brothers as well. For all the Elves, I suppose."

"That it was." Ithriel crossed her arms on a sigh, and leaned against the bedpost, onto which mallorn leaves and small birds had been carved. "As you must know, Haldir is fiercely private. It is no simple thing to read him. However, he seemed… well enough."

Ithriel's words brought little comfort to Annalyn, for "well enough" could mean many things when it came to Haldir.

"In all truthfulness, my husband's brother seldom shares his burdens with others. He would carry the weight of the world on his shoulders if he could."

"This I know."

"I see your concern," Ithriel remarked as Annalyn stepped away from the window. "It heartens me that you are watching over him. Very few do, for there is much pride in his heart." An understatement if ever there was one. "In my mind, Haldir is adept at keeping his friends at arm's length, even his kin. You, however…" The sentence trailed. Ithriel was studying her closely. Too closely even.

"I suppose I should get my things."

No doubt sensing her unease, Ithriel followed her out of the room, and changed the subject. "I need to look in on someone today, one of the soldiers from last night. But first I must go to the gardens to gather more herbs. It is not so far. Would you like to join me? We could leave as soon as you see to your things."

Since Annalyn had been itching to see the gardens for many days now, it proved an easy decision, and she agreed at once. A few minutes later, she stood in Haldir's current bedroom, stuffing the last of her belongings in her satchel as her gaze flitted about the space one final time. The bed was made now—she had made it so the maid wouldn't have to—and the curtains shifted in the late afternoon breeze.

It was silly and pointless, but she was going to miss this room.

With the strap of her satchel now seated on her shoulder, Annalyn recalled the dream she had had last night, and how Haldir had carried her to this very bed.

 _Must you do this again? You cannot keep pining after him._ With Ithriel waiting downstairs, Annalyn willed herself to leave. Before long, her belongings were laid out in her new room. When all had been put away, Annalyn and Ithriel ventured outside once more, and began the leisurely walk to the gardens.

With the sun warming her face, Annaly followed the healer past Rúmil's home, then onto a footbridge that led to a neighbouring mallorn. From there, they took to another bridge, then one more, going from tree to tree toward the very heart of Caras Galadhon.

They had just passed into the shade of a large bough, when a voice carried on the breeze. It was a command, Annalyn realised, shouted in a voice she knew. "Is that?"

There was a definite twinkle in Ithriel's eyes, but in lieu of answering, the healer merely nudged her chin. "Follow me and you shall see."

The Galadhrim's training yard became visible as they started down a long, curving footbridge. Thinking they might watch for a time, Annalyn and Ithriel found a closer vantage point, and halted by the rail.

Clad in beautiful golden armour, the soldiers were assembled in five perfectly spaced rows, their features impassive as they awaited their warden's command.

" _Savo chûr an dagor!_ " Haldir barked, in words she did not know. " _Maetho i megil dhîn!_ "

No sooner had he spoken, than the soldiers moved at once, drawing their swords with such precision and timing, their blades sang like the wind.

In the ensuing silence, Annalyn returned her gaze to Haldir.

He, too, was clad in armour. But unlike the grey cloaks of his soldiers, his was a rich crimson, the colour a sharp contrast to the pale gold of his hair. Eyes on his soldiers, Haldir paced along, with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Seeing him now, there was no denying what he was: a stern and disciplined warrior, a Marchwarden of the Galadhrim.

Though she would have gladly watched all day, Annalyn had no desire to intrude. "Perhaps we shouldn't linger." But as she pushed away from the rail, Haldir glanced ever so briefly in her direction.

Oh, it was barely noticeable, but he acknowledged her. She saw it in the fleeting curve of his mouth, and the glimmer in his eyes. After last night, and the sorrowful passion they had both shared, the simplicity of the moment proved rather heartening. And so, as her feet ferried her onward, Annalyn set her longing aside and acknowledged him in much the same fashion, holding his gaze for little more than a heartbeat before addressing Ithriel. "So, how far to the gardens?"

* * *

The gardens of Lothlórien were a jewel upon the earth, a sprawling collection of the most beautiful flowers Annalyn had ever seen. According to Ithriel, some belonged to a bygone age, and no longer grew in Middle-earth.

As she walked among the many varieties, Annalyn marvelled at the vibrancy of their colours, how each leaf was unblemished, perfect. A great number of them, she had been told, possessed healing properties.

"These I recognize," Annalyn said as she knelt by a patch of kingsfoil.

" _Athelas_." Ithriel supplied from where she sat. By her knees was a basket filled with fresh cuttings. "It is most useful in the healing arts, and should always be near at hand."

Looking up, Annalyn spied a patch of yellow flowers nearby. Their shape was known to her.

" _Mallos. The golden flower_." Haldir's words, from a night so long ago it seemed, though to an immortal such as him it must feel like yesterday.

The stars had shone brightly that night, her very first in the Golden Wood.

" _They are very beautiful_ ," she had said to him then, and seen the tiny smile on his lips, the first she had ever seen on his proud face.

In retrospect, this briefest exchange had been a turning point of sorts, for prior to that moment, Haldir had been but a stern and arrogant soldier in her eyes, one who had been willing to help them for the mere reason that it suited his mood—and perhaps there was truth to that. But that night, his love for the living world had pierced through his stoic exterior, hinting at the layered individual beneath.

"You seem lost in thought," Ithriel noted, snapping Annalyn out of her musings.

"Do I?" Her palms felt damp all of a sudden. She had to wipe them on the front of her breeches.

"Given that we are now friends, should you wish to speak of it…" Ithriel did not finish her sentence.

But Annalyn feined ignorance. "Speak of what?" But Ithriel was not dim-witted, nor was she blind. She knew. Her compassionate smile said as much. Perhaps she even felt sorry for her.

"Of him," the healer said at length.

Annalyn gained her feet. _One cannot fool an Elf, I suppose_. At least not this one.

Having lost all interest in plants and flowers, she made for a nearby bench and sat down. When Ithriel joined her, Annalyn shook her head, but words failed her. How was she to speak of him, of how she felt? Caught in indecision, she tiptoed around the subject, saying, "It is still hard to fathom. This place, how ancient it is. And yet, despite the lengthening years, the trees and the city seem untouched by time, much like the Elves who dwell here. A deathless existence… Try as I might, I cannot imagine how it must be."

"I sometimes wonder the same of your people. How it must feel to be so free."

"Free?"

"Mortality," Ithriel supplied. "It is a gift. Did you not know? Given by Ilúvatar himself."

Perplexed, Annalyn tried to wrap her mind around that. "Death, a gift?" Then her heart hardened. "The death of my kin? No. I am sorry but I do not share your view."

"Then what is your view?" Ithriel asked with unwavering serenity.

Silence ensued. Annalyn had to think about it long and hard. "The Rohirrim believe that life is governed by fate and doom. Dying is inevitable in the end, and indeed our warriors not only expect death, but they await it in hopes that it will be glorious, and thus be worthy of remembrance." A gentle breeze arose, cutting ripples in the grass. "My uncle and cousin, though not exactly soldiers, died honourably in the end, and for that I am glad. Nevertheless, their loss was no less painful to me than that of my parents who were taken by fever as they languished in their beds."

Ithriel's gaze could be felt, but Annalyn could not meet it just yet. "I, myself, do not fear death. Indeed, it is my doom. But a gift it is not, at least in my estimation." A small and bitter scoff rose in her throat. "If it is, I grow weary of it, for I have lost more than seems fair." Then something occurred to her. "Perhaps _that_ is my fate. To wander this world alone."

"It is no easy thing to lose those whom we love, and so my heart weeps for you. But do you not see that the same is true of the Elves?" Ithriel swept a gaze at her surroundings. "Like you we are begotten and come into this life, but as we linger on, time gradually fashions the world into a new thing. Seasons, years, even the lives of Men… to Elves, they come and go like waves lapping upon a shore. Yet ever we remain." Ithriel sought her eyes. "I suppose that is the essence of being immortal. There are some who envy us for it. But do mortals know that the opposite is also true? That there are some among us who envy them?"

"Envy us for the reason that we die?"

"You are not bound to this world like we are."

Bound? Annalyn's mouth worked, but before she could ask what Ithriel meant by that, the healer heaved a cheerless breath. "One might say that Elves are both blessed and cursed. Serene we seem, with all the time in the world to live and love. But appearances can be deceiving, for our glory has already waxed and waned. We love the world, but we are grieved to see it so marred. Our sorrow is endless, Annalyn."

Though there was much she didn't understand, Annalyn compared it to her own pain. Her grief would be long, ending only at the time of her death. But unlike the Elves, her life was finite. She would die someday, in several decades at the most, and when she passed, Annalyn believed that her kin would be waiting for her. But what of the Elves? They could be slain, she knew. So then where did their souls go?

Embarrassed by her lack of knowledge, Annalyn withheld her question, and chose another route instead. "Having heard your words, I cannot say that I envy the Elves. But why, then? Why are we so alike and yet so different?" It seemed cruel somehow. Haldir was an Elf, a male very much in likeness to a mortal man. She could yearn for him, love him, but to explore that love would be ruinous, especially for him.

"Are we still speaking of Elves and Men?" Ithriel leaned in, her eyes filled with knowing. "Or of you and Haldir?"

"I do not know." Annalyn's face reddened. "Maybe both?"

Surprisingly enough, there was no judgment in the healer's gaze. "It is said that Ilúvatar created both of our kindreds. The Elves, first and oldest of his Children. And Men, the Afterborn. But none know of his designs, not even the Wise. And so, I do not know why he made us the way we are."

"I fought it, you know. I promised myself that I would not… that I…" Annalyn was unaccustomed to speaking of such things, for she had spent the greater part of her adult life in the company of her kin. Men, the both of them. "You must think I am such a fool," she said to Ithriel. _A fool for loving an Elf_.

"I think no such thing. Nor do I claim to know all that is in your heart. But I know love, and I have known disappointment, and I have tasted bitter partings." Ithriel's mouth curved into a compassionate smile. "I see it whenever you look at him." _You love Haldir_ , her eyes seemed to say. "And though I will not impart wisdom on the subject, for I do not feel it is my place to do so, know that I will gladly listen should you need to spill your heart."

"Thank you, Ithriel. For that and, well, for everything."

* * *

Night was drawing nigh.

Even in the golden light of his bedside lamp, Celegon's features remained pale. His lips were devoid of colour, and dark circles wreathed the underside of his eyes. Ever the warrior, however, he smiled in defiance of the weakness that yet plagued him. "Haldir. You have come." With effort, he sat a bit straighter, and extended his arm so Haldir could clasp it in a warrior's greeting. "It is good to see you, friend."

"I will say the same of you, though I did not think to find you awake."

"Fear not, I have slept overmuch today." Celegon fell back against the pillows, his flaxen hair falling flat around his head. "Indeed, it seems like it is all I do."

"That is because you sorely need it." Ithriel's voice sounded from across the room, where she was adding fresh _athelas_ to a bowl of steaming water. Approaching the bedside, she placed it alongside the lamp on the small table. "Here. Breathe in the vapours for a while. They will soothe you."

Satisfied that Celegon was now comfortable, Ithriel told them she would lend a hand to Celegon's mother, who had come to visit and was now preparing herbal tea in the other room. Once Ithriel had made her exit, Haldir pulled up a chair and sat down.

Celegon said, "My mother and father are very dear to me, as you know, but it is long since I was a child. They fret, my mother especially, and so she hovers. She and my father have visited me every day. And while I am grateful, a part of me feels rather smothered."

Haldir chuckled in understanding. Yet in his mind, he couldn't help but think of his own mother and father, how he missed them terribly and still mourned their passing. With the death of their bodies, their spirits likely remained in the Halls of Mandos, where he hoped they would find the Healing they both deserved. If such a thing came to pass, they might even choose to return to life someday. Perhaps then he would get to see them again, in a far distant future, a world away from his beloved home here in Lothlórien.

Not knowing how to feel, Haldir set all thoughts of Valinor aside, and focused instead on Celegon, who was saying, "They tell me Celondir is healing well. Have you seen him?"

"I have. In fact, I just came from there. He sends his regards, and promises to visit as soon as he is able."

"Celondir has never been one for lounging around. Neither am I, if I am honest. Doubtless he will grow restless before long."

A smile tugged at Haldir's mouth. "I noted it. But your brother is strong. He should regain the use of his leg soon enough."

"A morgul shaft through the thigh." Celegon winced. "It cannot be pleasant."

Haldir arched a brow at the bandage that was wrapped over Celegon's chest and shoulder. "I hear Morgul blades are not so pleasant either."

"You mean this little scratch?" Celegon teased, then grimaced as he shifted to sit a bit higher. After breathing through the pain, he settled at last, then his features grew more subdued. "Ithriel says that the wound will never fully heal."

Silence settled over the room. Haldir could not gainsay him. The pain might lessen over time, but Celegon would never be rid of it, not entirely.

"What of Agoron?" Celegon asked.

"He, too, is eager to leave his bed."

"Good… that is good." His eyelids lowered. Celegon was growing weary. But then, as Haldir made to rise, Celegon spoke again. "I know that I cannot leave here just yet, that it will be some time before I can fight again." Now he looked to Haldir. "But my strength will return. When war reaches our borders, know that you can count on my bow and my sword."

"Your words hearten me," Haldir said, though deep down he worried for him and all of his soldiers. Whether in victory or defeat, elven blood would be spilt. Such was the price of war. "But first things first, you must rest and heal."

"I will," Celegon said, scarcely able to keep his eyes open.

Thus it was that Haldir took his leave. After bidding good night to Celegon's mother, he nodded to Ithriel, then stepped out into the light of the westering sun. Given that he had seen to his duties, and was done for the day, he thought he might take his time and wander the city for a while. Wearied by the figurative weight of his sword-belt and cloak, Haldir removed them both, but kept on walking.

Whether he would go home or make his way to the pavilion to visit Annalyn, Haldir had not decided yet. For though he much preferred the latter, he had not forgotten the previous night, how he had kissed her, slowly and passionately, like he had long desired to, revealing more than was wise. Loathe as he was to admit it, it seemed Rúmil had been right after all. Haldir _was_ playing with fire. With each passing day, it seemed his resolve was fracturing more and more. How long before it crumbled utterly?

Haldir had not taken ten steps when a delicate voice echoed in the air. "So he sheds his mantle." Turning, he saw that Ithriel was exiting Celegon's home, and was now drawing near. "I presume you are headed home?" she asked.

"There or elsewhere, I have not yet decided."

"I suppose it is a fair evening for a stroll. But should your feet bring you to a certain pavilion,"—her mirthful gaze flitted southward—"do not be alarmed to find it empty, if it remains at all."

He frowned. "I do not follow your meaning. Has Annalyn gone?" Surely, she wouldn't have left without saying goodbye.

"Nay." Ithriel's laughter reassured him. "But henceforth she will be staying over at the house."

"Your house?" he echoed in surprise.

"There is room aplenty, and the pavilion is rather far removed. I believe it will be less lonely for her. At any rate, I asked her and she agreed."

Schooling his features, Haldir inclined his head. "Then I must express my thanks. That was most kind of you, Ithriel."

"You need not thank me. Her presence is a joy. She and I have become friends." His heart warmed at that. Then Ithriel changed the subject. "Tell me, are you going to the feast tonight?"

He gave what he hoped was a polite smile. "Alas, I believe I will forgo it this time. It has been a long day."

Ithriel merely regarded him for a moment. He knew that look. It was the kind she bore when assessing someone. Hoping for a swift retreat, Haldir bid her a good night and made to leave. His brother's wife, however, stopped him by grabbing the end of this sleeve. "Ah, not so fast."

Haldir breathed through flaring nostrils.

"Give me your eyes," Ithriel said and sought his gaze. Her scrutiny unnerved him. And though he regarded her coolly, she guessed rightly when she said, "A cloud hovers over you."

Haldir gave no reply.

As her keen gaze pierced his façade, Ithriel saw right through him. Somberly, she said, "It has been long since I have seen you thus. Not since…"

Haldir's heart twisted in sorrow. He knew of whom she spoke. The maid he had loved long ago.

He cut a glance toward the house. "I am certain you have things to do. You should go."

But his brother's wife was not so easily deterred. With her hands folded before her, she beheld him with an air of sadness. "Long I have known and loved you as a brother. It pains me to see you like this."

"You cannot help me, Ithriel. No one can." Annalyn would be leaving here soon, and she was right to do so. _I must accept this_.

Haldir walked away at last, and for a mercy Ithriel did not hinder him. As the shadows lengthened, his feet turned north, and he took to the footbridges with no real destination in mind. All throughout the day, he had seen to his various tasks and responsibilities, hoping they would quiet his turmoil. But no matter what he did, his thoughts kept circling back to Annalyn.

Ah, but he longed to see her.

 _But that would be reckless_.

His heart, however, would not be silenced.

 _Her time here is fleeting_.

If he did not go to her, he might come to regret it. No, he _would_ regret it. Of that there was no doubt.

 _But what would I say to her?_ As he passed a circular platform edged by a rail and two semi-circular benches, Haldir recalled the news he had received this morning. News Annalyn would be happy to hear.

And so he wavered back and forth, until a familiar tree came into view. His chest rose on a sigh. So he had made his way home after all. As he drew nearer to the towering mallorn, his eyes turned to his brother's dwelling, and the lone figure who was wandering aimlessly before the open arches lining the house. Even from afar, Haldir knew that it was her.

Love stirred in his heart, but his feet slowed to a stop.

With his resolve hanging by a thread, going to her might very well prove disastrous.

Haldir squared his shoulders. He was wiser than this, stronger than this.

Wasn't he?

* * *

Dusk had long since fallen. After wandering about the green avenues by herself, Annalyn had managed to find her way to Ithriel's home, where she now lingered, on the _talan_ outside.

Since most of the Elves who resided nearby were assembled on the terrace below, the upper tiers were mostly deserted this night, which suited her mood, she supposed.

Indeed, Annalyn had chosen an alternate route, avoiding the terrace altogether, not because she disliked dining with the Elves, but for the simple reason that her heart was in turmoil tonight.

As her feet carried her aimlessly across the flet, Annalyn kept looking toward Haldir's home. Except for a solitary lamp by the footbridge, his house was lit solely by moonlight, the front entrance and the archways dark and empty.

He had not returned, then.

Stopping by a lamppost, Annalyn leaned her weight against it, her temple coming to rest on the pole as her chest rose on a sigh. If anyone were to see her now, there would be no hiding what she currently felt. Her face, she knew, was filled with useless longing, her lingering gaze on Haldir's home making it quite clear exactly whom she was longing for.

As her mind supplied glimpses of the previous night, her heart recalling the ache they had both felt, Annalyn began to think that, perhaps, Haldir could not handle seeing her tonight. It might be better that way.

Resigned to an evening alone, she pushed herself away from the lamppost, and tried not to think of his looming departure for the marches. She had just entered the house, and was nearing the top of the stairs when a gentle knock sounded. Halting mid-step, Annalyn turned to see who it was, and her heart nearly faltered in her chest.

With silent footsteps, Haldir stepped over the threshold, his beautiful features soft in the golden lamplight. When he nodded in greeting, Annalyn merely stood there, looking him up and down.

Tonight, he was carrying his sword-belt in one hand, while his red cloak was draped over his other arm. This left him clad in grey boots and slim-trousers, with a fitted tunic as black as night. If she was honest, he looked even more handsome this way. A soldier returning from duty, she mused and descended a single step.

"Haldir," she said, for it was all she could think to say.

"I am sorry to intrude at this hour."

Truth be told, it was early still, but Annalyn did not correct him—so glad was she to see him.

"I was walking past when I saw you on the _talan_." His hand rose to scratch behind his ear. How long had he been out there, she wondered, and hoped he had not seen her gazing longingly at his house.

He said, "I thought you might like to know that Cobalt is doing well."

"Is he?" Something brightened in her being.

"This morning, one of the stablehands informed me that he has been led across the river by barge, and is now stabled by the green fields outside the city. I am told he is quite happy there. If you wish to see him, I can find someone to guide you, as soon as you feel able."

"I would like that very much."

Haldir seemed pleased to hear it, his faint smile mirroring her own.

There was a silence. The two merely stared at the other. When he failed to say aught else, Annalyn had to ask, "Is that the sole reason you have come?"

He blinked then, as one who has snapped out of his thoughts. "No." When Haldir rubbed the back of his neck, Annalyn briefly narrowed her eyes. Was he… nervous? _It cannot be that_.

Having abandoned his neck, Haldir schooled his features into a more pragmatic expression. "As you know, I will be leaving in the morning. Therefore, I thought that…" He trailed, his manner so incredibly nonchalant, it was clear he felt the exact opposite. It was startling, amusing, and quite possibly the most endearing thing she had ever seen.

"I thought that, perhaps… if it pleases you…" He cleared his throat. "You and I could spend the evening together."

Her heart quickened at once, yet she felt compelled to ask, "Do you believe it wise?"

Haldir chose not to answer. Instead he waited, and she guessed his thoughts. _It is what we both want_.

For her part, he would not be wrong.

It might have been pure folly, but like a moth to a flame, her feet ferried her forward, down a single step. _Of course I will come_ , Annalyn wanted to say but her voice had fled.

When her wordless answer became clear, Haldir seemed relieved. He held out his hand. As her body came alive with the flutter of a thousand butterflies, Annalyn took another step, then one more. Nearing the bottom of the steps, she smiled, placed her hand onto his upturned palm, and descended the rest of the way.

"So what did you think of my soldiers?" Haldir asked as he offered her his arm.

"I was impressed," Annalyn said then teased, "the Marchwarden, on the other hand, seemed rather stern."

Haldir chuckled at that. They started for the door, their footsteps unhurried. "I hear he is not always so."

"No?" The sound of her laughter echoed throughout the room, but soon faded as he led her out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it for chapter 39. A bit long, I know. For those who find that I ended the chapter at a cruel point, know that the next one will pick up pretty much where I left off. Again, thank you for reading all of this. I suppose I will get back to writing now. Have a good week, everyone!


	40. Garden of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I need to thank all my readers and reviewers. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.
> 
> Important side note about this story:
> 
> When I first started writing this fanfic, I really wanted to stay true to the general feel of Middle-earth and the beautiful cultures Tolkien created. But that being said, I'm not Tolkien. Some details differ—some by accident, others purposely. For those who are wondering whether or not I'm sticking to Tolkien's views on elven marriages and sexuality (which can be found in the essay, Laws and Customs among the Eldar, in the book Morgoth's Ring), the answer is yes. But at the same time, I'm also taking slight liberties in regards to certain things, including elven souls. I know I'm being rather vague here, but in order not to spoil the story, I will say little else for now. For those who wish to continue this journey, I promise all will be explained over the next few chapters. 
> 
> Kindest regards,  
> CygnusRift

CHAPTER XL

GARDEN OF LIGHT

"Your songs truly are beautiful." Annalyn's eyes were closed, a peaceful smile gracing her lips as she stood by the rail and absorbed the music.

Presently, she and Haldir were in the middle tiers of a mallorn, on a footbridge from which they could see the feast, the minstrels, and all the guests down below. In order to accommodate the forty or so Elves, Haldir saw that a longer table had been set on the terrace. Amid the wine glasses and succulent dishes, candles flickered in their sconces, casting soft light on those seated around.

Even from afar, Haldir could see that Ithriel was there, along with Orophin and Rúmil. Contrary to last night, their faces were joyful, devoid of the worries they all shared these days. He was glad to see it.

"Would you not rather be down there?" Annalyn's words were softly spoken, and he found she was staring at him.

"Nay."

While he normally enjoyed such feasts, Haldir had but one wish tonight—to spend time with Annalyn, enjoying her company in a way he might never experience again.

"You?" he asked, turning the tables on her.

"Same." Her chest rose on a joyful sigh. "I am exactly where I wish to be."

With the breeze in her hair, Annalyn withdrew from the rail, and resumed their lazy stroll. As they turned aside onto another footbridge, one that led away from the feast, Haldir offered her his arm like earlier in the night, while his cloak and sword-belt remained draped over the other.

As Annalyn's other hand came to rest over his forearm, Haldir recalled the last time he had strolled the city in this fashion, with a woman on his arm. Many long years had passed since then, but he remembered it still, as well as the maid with whom he had walked. As fond memories replayed in his mind, long-contained sadness arose, then receded when Annalyn looked sidelong at him.

"The song," she began as the echoing melody was nearing its end. "Would you tell me of it?"

Acquiescing, Haldir answered that it was a hymn to the one whom they called Elbereth.

"Elbereth?"

"To some she is known by another name. Varda." Haldir thought Annalyn might know of her, but at the shake of her head, he explained, "She is a Vala. The Queen of the Stars, who along with her husband, Manwë, watches over us from the heights of Taniquetil, Mount Everwhite, over in Aman." With a subtle motion of his hand, Haldir indicated the shimmering gems in the inky blackness above. "According to the Eldar, it was she who kindled the stars prior to the awakening of the Elves, in a bygone age when there was neither sun nor moon in the skies."

Annalyn furrowed her brows, but then she laughed. "You cannot mean there was no sun? No moon?"

"It was well before my time, but indeed it was so," Haldir answered serenely. "For years unnumbered, the Elves lived and thrived in starlight. The stars… It is why we love them so, even to this day. As for the race of Men, they awoke but long after, with the coming of the sun."

"Is that why you call us the Afterborn?"

Haldir gave a nod.

"So these Vala," Annalyn started, as if trying to understand.

"Valar," he corrected softly. "One Vala. Two Valar."

"So these Valar," she emphasized, and seemed to be walking even closer. "Are they like Béma?"

"Béma." Haldir searched his memories but could not recall hearing the name.

She explained, "In Rohan, it is said that a great huntsman and horseman brought the ancestors of our great horses, the Mearas, out of the West. We call him Béma."

"Ah yes. I believe you speak of the one we call Oromë. He, too, is counted among the Valar. There are many."

Leisurely footsteps carried them past another mallorn, where Elves were dining on a high platform set amid a cluster of homes. Another community, comprised mostly of the Sindar. True to custom, there was music here, too. A pleasing blend of harps and flutes.

As Haldir and Annalyn strode by, some of the Elves looked their way. Curious they seemed, with speculative glances exchanged here and there.

Unbothered by their scrutiny, Haldir maintained his pace while Annalyn held to his arm. They walked onwards.

The two had just passed the empty gallery, and were headed for a sparsely settled area of Caras Galadhon when Annalyn said, "As a girl, I was always curious about the world. Ever eager to see and learn new things. Yet I never imagined all of this. These woods. Tarrying among the Elves." Her eyes swept the ancient city before locking onto his. "Meeting and befriending you."

Something passed between them then, a silent acknowledgement of the feelings they harboured for one another. But as they stepped into a swath of warm light, Annalyn took note of its source, and slowed. Fascinated, she released his arm, moved past him, and stopped by the rail.

Coming to stand beside her, Haldir turned his gaze onto the feature down below and, thinking she might enjoy it, suggested a detour.

Moments later, they were descending a tall staircase that led to a winding platform flanked by a wide assortment of trees. While these were dwarfed by the surrounding _mallyrn_ , all manner of fruit grew upon their branches, red, yellow, and orange.

But unlike their golden neighbours, the foliage here was mostly green, with hundreds of tiny lanterns hanging amongst the leaves.

As Haldir halted at the base of the staircase, Annalyn moved to the center of the platform, spun around, and laughed in amazement. "A suspended garden."

"One of many in Caras Galadhon." Delighted by her excitement, Haldir watched as Annalyn meandered about the platform. Thanks to the golden lanterns, the light here was gentle and subdued. As Annalyn took it all in, the hilt of her sword reflected the ambient glow, the glint as soft as the wonderment in her eyes.

"I hold fond memories of this place, for I spent much time here as a child." With a motion of his hand, Haldir indicated the surrounding branches. "Please, help yourself if you wish."

"No one will mind?"

"They were sown here for the enjoyment of all."

With so many varieties to choose from, Annalyn could not seem to decide. As she hesitated, moving from one tree to the next, Haldir scanned the surrounding branches, looking past the first line of trees until he descried something she might like. "Wait here," he said and stepped out onto the delicate boughs.

"May I ask what are you doing?" Her laughter echoed throughout the empty garden. "Careful!"

While the chosen tree in question was too fragile to hold his weight, the neighbouring apple tree looked sturdy enough. Choosing a suitable perch, Haldir moved along the limb, and leaned out as far as he dared.

"Here we are," he said, weaving his way back. "I believe you will like this."

When he tossed the fruit, Annalyn caught it, and turned it over in her palm. Eyes on him, she arched an elegant brow, and smirked as he stepped onto the platform once more.

"What is it?" she asked as he neared.

"A peach." Haldir stepped up to her, watched as she took a bite. Since it was perfectly ripe, he thought she might like the sweetness and nod in approval, but when her teeth broke the delicate peel, her eyelids fell heavily, and a moan rose in her throat. The sound, coupled with the utter enjoyment on her face, did something to him. His heart sped up. Heat rose to his cheeks. Transfixed, Haldir tried to swallow, but the neckline of his tunic seemed tight all of a sudden.

Head angled to the side, Annalyn savoured the fruit for a beat longer. "You thought right. I love this." The little sigh she gave...

 _The Valar help me_.

Her teeth sank into the peach once more, but when the peel broke, juice spurted out. Her eyes widened at once. Annalyn gasped and laughed at the same time. "Oh! Your face!"

Ere he could reply or do aught else, her fingers were on his cheek, wiping away the juice. There wasn't much of it, a droplet or two, just over his jaw. One more on—

"And your cheek." Though laughter laced her words, Annalyn seemed utterly mortified. Intent on erasing her mishap, she stepped even closer, dabbed his face with the end of her sleeve. "I am so sorry."

Amused but very much entranced, Haldir watched her until a falling leaf netted his gaze. As it fluttered down, it brushed then caught in Annalyn's hair. Before he knew it, he was removing the leaf, but once it was discarded, he did not lower his hand. Instead, the backs of his fingers skimmed her unbound locks, and lingered.

Annalyn was lovely, he thought. Lovely and full of light, of life. Perfect and imperfect. Her.

With a scant few inches separating them, a familiar tension asserted itself. Haldir grew still. Annalyn did, too. She was staring at his mouth, he realised and soon did the same. Her lips were slightly parted. He remembered how soft they were, how good she tasted.

He swallowed hard.

Haldir had courted danger and fought battles before, but never like this. As the leaves rustled around them, he much desired to pull her close and claim her mouth again. It was an effort not to.

As they lingered in this fashion, he was reminded not only of last night, but of the dream he'd had early this morning, how he had given in, kissing her deeply and without restraint before gathering her in his arms and carrying her up to his bed. _Does she know_ , he wondered. _Did she dream alongside me?_

Given the link that had formed between them—the one that allowed him to sense her emotions while she dreamed—it seemed rather plausible.

Despite his numerous attempts at smothering his feelings, Haldir could not shake the yearning she often kindled in him. A yearning that went beyond desire, beyond the stirrings of his heart. A strong and powerful sensation, different from aught he had ever felt before. Something new.

Unable to define it, he searched her face for an answer.

"Should we head back?" Annalyn's cheeks had turned red. With a bashful gaze, she smiled and widened the gap between them.

Haldir should have been grateful for her strength of will, but as she turned, oblivious of his musings, all he could do was stare and wonder.

And so, as Annalyn scaled the steps, asking if he was coming, it took a moment before he could gather himself. When he finally caught up with her, the two walked long in silence. Only when they were nearing Orophin's dwelling did she speak. "Look. Over there. Is that for us?"

In their absence, a basket had been left on the outside table, along with a folded note.

"What does it say?" Annalyn asked as he reached for the message and started reading.

Haldir chuckled even as he shook his head. "It seems that our presence was noted earlier, when we stopped to observe the feast. It is a gift from Orophin." He lowered the note. "Food and wine."

"Oh! How thoughtful!" Moving past him, Annalyn uplifted the lid, and peered inside the basket. "It smells wonderful. And I am rather famished," she confessed.

Looking over her shoulder, Haldir saw that the food had been covered by silver lids. Doubtless the fare was still hot.

"What say you?" she asked. "Fancy a late dinner?"

Given his reaction in the garden, Haldir should have erred on the side of caution, and bid her good night. Instead, because he wished to comprehend what he had felt just now, and because he could not deny her, Haldir said, "I suppose it would be a shame to let this go to waste."

Her smile broadened at that. But as she reached into the basket, a thought suddenly came to him. "Besides we never did share that meal." The one they were supposed to share last night, when he had been called away. "If you're of a mind, I would like to honour my invitation."

"Your invitation," she echoed with sudden interest.

By way of answer, he swept his arm toward his home, his heart gladdening as her features brightened even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short chapter, I know, with more questions than answers. But at least they'll finally have their dinner date now. No interruptions this time! Also, the next chapter will be longer. If all goes well, I will post it over the weekend.


	41. One Last Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all who have been reading this story, thank you! To all who have commented so far, words cannot express how much I appreciate it.

CHAPTER XLI

ONE LAST TIME

The lamp by the lounging couch had been kindled, along with the two candles he had set upon the table. Their combined lighting was soft and soothing, bathing the room in a subtle golden glow. Much to her amazement, Haldir had not opened the curtains tonight, perhaps as a means to isolate themselves and forget the cares of the world for a brief moment in time. The white fabric now swayed gently in the breeze, reminding her of lazy ripples upon a lake.

It was peaceful and pleasant, just as she had hoped. For instead of retiring for the night, Haldir had invited Annalyn into his home so they might share the food and wine that had been gifted to them.

At present, he was trying to open said bottle, his perfect brows raised in puzzlement as the cork refused to budge. Not bothering to hide her amusement, Annalyn crossed her ankles beneath her chair, and leaned forth to place her elbow upon the table, her chin coming to rest on her upturned palm. As she watched and waited, her mirth remained, yet she couldn't help but think about this night, pondering its meaning.

Neither of them had verbally defined it, but seeing him now, standing before the closed curtains, strong features lined in candlelight, it seemed that he knew just as well as she did; that this night was something they both needed—their goodbye away from prying eyes—and that after this, even when he returned from the fences, things would be different.

They had to be.

At last, the cork loosened with an echoing pop. Rounding the table, Haldir allowed the wine to breathe before filling each of their glasses. Once he had gained his chair, they toasted to their evening, and started their meal. But as they dined on braised quail and wild mushrooms, Annalyn couldn't help but note the contemplative way he would sometimes stare at her, as if a great question had come into his thoughts. She had first noticed the change when they had left the suspended garden, following the spellbound moment they had shared. Debating whether or not to say anything, Annalyn toyed with her glass, raised it to her mouth.

"The wine pleases you," he stated more than asked.

Swallowing a mouthful, she hummed in affirmation, then leaned back in her chair. As she considered her dining companion, and the smile that had kindled on his mouth, Annalyn decided against voicing her earlier observation, opting for a less invasive topic instead. "I learned something today."

 _Oh?_ his eyes seemed to say.

"Regarding you."

Now he seemed intrigued.

"Your brother's wife told me of your little pastime." His eyes narrowed. She raised her glass again. "That you know your way around a smithy."

His full lips curved on one side, his deep blue eyes dotted by candlelight. "Indeed, I dabble in the craft."

"Do you have a specialty? Swords? Knives?"

Having finished his meal, Haldir dabbed at his mouth. "I craft but mere trinkets."

Annalyn highly doubted this, so she challenged him. "Is there a chance I might see your creations?"

Haldir considered her request, and seemed to waver for a moment. "Very well." As he made for his desk, Annalyn followed in his wake, her eyes widening in approval when she beheld the dagger he now held in his hand, the one she had noticed upon her first visit.

"You made this?" She took the proffered blade.

"I enjoy the work. It relaxes me. Yet I fear it is but a pale imitation of true elven craft."

"Nonsense. I would be proud to carry such a blade." As Annalyn turned the dagger over, admiring the way it caught the light, Haldir rounded his desk and started rummaging through a drawer.

Curious, she watched as he walked nearer to her, a beautiful leather sheath in hand. Upon closer inspection, the embossed leaves on the side reminded her of the patterns that were coiled around his bow and the hilt of his sword.

"Did you craft this as well?"

"Nay. I had it made rather." Haldir sought the dagger in her hands. Once he had sheathed the blade, he motioned toward the desk, leaving her rather speechless when he asked her to sit upon the edge.

When she hesitated, pointing to the wooden surface as if to say " _truly?",_ Haldir moved past her to grab his red cloak—that he had previously set upon the desk—and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Then, before she had a chance to do or say aught else, his palms found her hips, and he hoisted her up onto the desk with no effort whatsoever, robbing her of breath as he did so.

Blinking in absolute surprise, Annalyn watched as he took a single step back. "Lift your foot for me?" A bold request, but a gentle one.

Breathless, Annalyn did as he asked, placed her hands on either side of her, and raised her foot until he grasped her booted ankle. With a lowered gaze, Haldir stepped closer and set the sole against the front of his muscular thigh. As her heart quickened, she watched him sheath the dagger into the side of her boot. Then he met her eyes. "How is that?"

Her mouth was hanging open, she realised. Snapping it closed, Annalyn looked to her boot, wriggled her foot up and down. At length, she found her voice again. "That fits quite nicely."

Haldir gave a furtive smile. "Then consider it yours. Should you desire it, of course."

Another tongue-tied pause. "Yes. Absolutely! I should love to have it."

With that, Haldir set her leg back down, and calmly moved away, crossing the room to retrieve his wineglass. As he stood by the table, facing away from her, Annalyn found she already missed his proximity, and the fleeting contact of his hands upon her calf and ankle.

Her chest growing heavy, she regained her feet, and realised that she was staring again. In truth, Annalyn was not used to seeing him without a cloak. His black tunic highlighted his frame in all the right ways—wide shoulders tapering to a strong and toned mid-section. When he turned to face her, her eyes had lowered to his powerful thighs. Blushing, she immediately ceased her ogling and crossed the room to fetch her glass.

"This is nice," Annalyn said, hoping he wouldn't notice how flushed she was. "Tonight, and these little discoveries. In a way, it feels like I am getting to know you. Better than I did before. Does that make sense?"

"It does." Haldir faced her fully. "If I am honest, it is the one thing I regret. There is still much that I wish I knew about you and your life before you came here."

Annalyn felt her throat tighten at that, her voice lowering when she said, "Like what? What do you wish to know?"

Haldir gave it some thought. Ultimately, he sat back down. "Your life on the Westfold. What was it like?"

She, too, regained her chair. "As a child it was wonderful," Annalyn answered. "It was a simple life. Like everyone in the village, we lived in a humble home, yet we never lacked food or warmth. My father was a kind and patient man, a farrier by trade, and my mother…" Warmth surged in her being. "She was loving and spirited. She had a way with horses. I still remember her laugh, and the bread she used to make."

As memories surfaced one by one, Annalyn told him a few stories from her past, like the time she had wandered away from home as a child. "I must have been around seven at the time. I was chasing a butterfly along the river when I came upon this field. The flowers, Haldir… You should have seen them. Entranced, I explored and discovered, until finally I laid down on the grass to stare at the clouds. I was a dreamer back then."

Haldir set his glass upon the table, his posture suggesting genuine interest. "What did you dream of?"

But her eyes narrowed. "You do realise that makes two questions in a row?" Not that she minded. Annalyn returned to her memories. "I was quite young back then. My daydreams were simple, the musings of a girl who was yet untroubled by the world. I sometimes tried to envision myself as a woman grown. I wondered… would I be like my mother? Would I look like her?" Her chest rose and fell on a drawn-out sigh, then she whispered, mostly to herself. "I remember that child."

Resuming her earlier story, Annalyn told him how she had fallen asleep in that field. "A patrol found me at dusk, and brought me back to the village. My mother was so angry." Her shoulders bobbed with soft, giggled laughter. "I shouldn't laugh. Now that I am grown, I know that, had I been in her shoes, I would have been livid."

Amusement shone in Haldir's eyes.

"She and my father, along with the entire village, had looked for me all day! Ah…" Annalyn shook her head, her tone turning slightly pensive. "Forgive me, mama." She breathed a small laugh again, knowing full well that her mother had forgiven her right then and there.

"Your story sounds rather familiar to my ears, for Rúmil was wont to wander away as a child. I daresay you two would have gotten along."

She almost snorted at that. _As children perhaps. But certainly not now. He resents me being here_ , she thought before countering, "I have answered two questions. I believe it should be your turn. It is only fair."

Haldir merely inclined head.

Pleased by his willingness, she clicked her tongue, and tapped a finger against her bottom lip. "But what to ask..."

"Anything you wish," he stated simply, taking her aback.

Eyebrows rising toward her hairline, Annalyn stopped just short of sipping her wine. "Is that so?" Haldir, the intensely private and guarded warden of Lórien, was an open book tonight? Interesting, and somewhat thrilling, too. But most of all, it made her feel incredibly special.

"So I learned of one of your pastimes. There must be more. What else do you like to do when you are not guarding the realm or forging weapons?"

His face grew serious all of a sudden, as if he had realised his blunder. Amused and undeterred, she arched a brow, as if to say, " _you said anything I wished_ ". By the way he flexed his jaw, Annalyn felt she knew the reason, and couldn't quite smother her excitement. "A secret, then. You have a secret pastime. Oh, do tell."

"It is not a secret. Not exactly. But it is private."

But at the last, being a man—Elf—of his word, Haldir drained his glass and rose, presumably to grant her request. "I suppose I walked into that one," she heard him say with a long-suffering sigh. When he had reached the bottom of the staircase leading up to his room, Haldir stopped abruptly. "This remains between us," he warned then scaled the first step, where he halted again. "And you must promise not to laugh."

Annalyn tried to appear solemn. "I promise."

When he returned, her gaze went to his hands, and the item he held. Annalyn rose to meet him. "You play music?"

"I learned to play at a young age," he admitted and narrowed the gap so she could see. "Do you like the harp?"

"I have heard tell of harps, but never have I beheld such an instrument." It was beautiful, gold with silver strings. "Would you play for me?"

Haldir bowed his head, then motioned to the lounging couch in an invitation for her to take a seat. As she did so, grabbing her glass as she went, he made his way over to his desk, and sat on the edge of it. Once he had set the instrument upon his lap, he brought his fingers near to the strings and, closing his eyes, began to play.

The music was soft and exquisite, his fingers moving with such precision and rising speed, she could scarce believe it. As he played, Haldir seemed to lose himself in the music, his hair partially curtaining his features as his head tipped forward in concentration.

As she listened, her gaze gravitated to his beautiful face and lingered. Annalyn couldn't help it; she was falling for him all over again.

This Elf was a bundle of contradictions, a beautiful soul wrapped in a fair but heavily guarded exterior. Yet right now, Haldir had lowered most, if not all, of his defences, revealing parts of himself she hadn't known existed.

The music poured forth, stirring her heart and lulling her thoughts. As she drifted, Annalyn gathered her legs beside her, and leaned against the curved section of the lounging couch.

At length, when the music yielded to silence, she watched him set the harp aside.

"That was…" A tranquil sigh and her smile broadened. "Perfection."

"Hardly, but I thank you." His feet carried him over to the table, but when he went to refill his glass, Haldir noticed that the bottle was nearly empty. And so he fetched another one.

"Would you?" Annalyn asked, rising on her elbow and extending her glass.

Haldir inclined his head. "Gladly." His glass now filled, he turned, bottle in hand, and approached. Instead of merely pouring, however, he surprised her by taking a seat on the edge of the lounging couch. As he poured, the wine spilled forth in soft surges. It was the only sound to break the stillness.

When he set the bottle aside, Annalyn couldn't help but note just how close he was sitting, his hip less than a hands-breadth away from her thigh. As heat unexpectedly rose to her cheeks, her chest growing just a tad heavier, she wondered if he would notice the effect he had on her. Torn between wanting him to and hoping he wouldn't, Annalyn nodded in thanks, cleared her throat, and resumed their little game. "I believe it is your turn."

Yet Haldir hesitated, as if he had a question in mind, but did not know if he should ask. His next words explained why. "I heard you singing once. That day…"

By her uncle's cairn.

"The song was one of mourning," he said, "but your voice was fair. I would love to hear you sing again, but a song that brings joy to your heart. If you are of a mind."

"My voice is not so fair." One might have said she was fishing for praise, but Annalyn had been in the city long enough to know that the Elves _could sing_ , with skill unmatched as far as she was concerned.

"To me it is fair," Haldir stated simply.

A heartbeat went by, then another. At length, Annalyn yielded. For him, she thought and gave a faint smile.

At first, she thought to sing a lullaby, one she had favoured as a child. A song that spoke of warm beds by the fire, and valiant fathers who rode around the village to keep the Wolves at bay.

But when she opened her mouth to sing, the hymn that tumbled from her lips was another one altogether. A song of remembrance and tradition that was known to all her people. As for why she had chosen it, Annalyn could not say. Perhaps it kindled her courage. Perhaps it gave her hope. Or perhaps it reminded her of the approaching darkness and what they were all facing. Whatever the reason, she closed her eyes and sang each line in her mother tongue, like so many had done before.

 _Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?_  
_Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?_  
 _Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?_  
 _Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?_  
 _They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;_  
 _The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow._  
 _Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,_  
 _or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?_

The song ended. She reopened her eyes.

Haldir beheld her with a most remarkable look. Annalyn could not define it, save that it moved her, deeply. "I suppose that was not as joyful as you asked."

"It is a fair song," he said, then surprised her by saying its name. "Eorl's Hymn."

"You know it?"

"I first heard it years ago, during a visit to Edoras. The words have stayed with me."

Puzzlement crossed her face. How could he remember the words when he did not know the language? Unless…

"Wait." She sat a bit straighter. "You speak Rohirric?"

His silence only confirmed it.

Her mouth worked, then her eyes widened. "But when we first ventured in the Golden Wood, you never… You misled us." Honestly, she was shocked.

Haldir raised both hands, but his amusement remained. "I did no such thing. Only you made assumptions and never asked whether I knew your language."

Annalyn was so stunned, she couldn't decide whether to be impressed or upset. In the end, she simply shook her head, sighing on a resigned smile. "I suppose. But if you speak it, why are we even bothering with Westron, then?"—switching to her own language—"Why not speak Rohirric?"

"I understand the language," Haldir countered somewhat grudgingly, still using the common tongue. "But the words are difficult to pronounce. I… struggle."

"This embarrasses you." It was not so much a question as a point of observation. When he made no reply, Annalyn felt her features soften. "You should have said something. I would not have laughed."

Haldir seemed to appreciate her words.

"What about your brothers? Do they know my language?" When he shook his head, she prodded further. "What about Westron?"

"They speak no other language than their own."

"Rúmil as well?"

Puzzlement crossed Haldir's face. "Yes, why do you ask?"

"No reason," she lied, recalling how Rúmil had chimed in on a conversation today. He had used the elven-tongue, true. But Ithriel had been addressing Annalyn in Westron at the time. It struck her as strange. Ithriel, it seemed, had taken no notice of it, and neither had Orophin. Given what had happened last night—the tireless efforts to save those injured soldiers—perhaps their thoughts had been elsewhere. Weariness could do that, she supposed.

"Shall we continue?" Haldir asked.

"Another question?"

"I believe it is now your turn."

Delight curved her lips. "Indeed, it is." On a long inhalation, Annalyn reclined against the slanted armrest, the back of her head settling against the grey velvet cushion he kept there. As she weighed her question, her eyes never leaving his face, she felt some of her playfulness ebb away. Haldir hadn't moved, hadn't said anything. But as he waited, his mouth curved ever so slightly, she saw genuine earnestness in his eyes. That, coupled with the wine, made her feel rather bold. She bit her lip.

_Should I? Or shouldn't I?_

Even after all this time, there was much she yearned to know of him. And though she wanted to learn all she could before they said their final goodbyes, one question stood out amongst the others. It was something she had often wondered about but had never dared to ask. Until now.

"Tell me of her?" A beat went by, then another. Gathering her courage, she met his gaze, her words barely audible when she clarified, "The woman you loved."

Haldir blinked at her chosen question, and for a brief instant, Annalyn feared she might have delved too deep. But then, to her relief, he gave a subtle nod.

"Very well."


	42. Then and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to all who have been reading this story, and all who have commented. Your continued interest means the world to me.
> 
> ***Note about spelling***
> 
> Throughout this story, you might notice variations in the way I write the word "spirit" in Elvish. While I absolutely adore the Quenyan word "fëa", I've chosen to use the Sindarin equivalent "fae" whenever Haldir speaks, or when a scene is in his point of view. However, since the Lady Galadriel is of Noldorin descent, she will sometimes use the word "fëa" in her dialogue. I just thought I would clear that up to avoid confusion, because you will likely come across both versions of the word in this story. Oh, and the same for "body", which is "hröa" in Quenya, and "rhaw" in Sindarin.
> 
> Now on to chapter 42…

CHAPTER XLII

THEN AND NOW

Haldir was staring at his glass, his profile unreadable as he swirled the wine around. From the continuing silence, Annalyn sensed that he was debating what to say. Finally, after downing nearly half of his glass, he sat forward, both elbows coming to rest on his knees.

"Her name was Nethrien."

Nethrien. A lovely name. No doubt as lovely as the woman herself—Annalyn figured she had to be. But on the heels of this came a sudden realisation, namely that he had used the word "was".

 _So she did pass_. _Oh, Haldir._

Her heart clenching in commiseration, Annalyn watched his profile in silence.

"She was a soldier, a captain of the guard in a place called Rivendell." Assuming she had never heard of it, he explained that it was an elven settlement, nestled many leagues away, in the moorlands west of the Misty Mountains. Annalyn's mind, however, was still eddying around the fact that Nethrien had been a soldier. A captain no less. It seemed fitting somehow.

"I first made her acquaintance when I was assigned to guard the Lord and the Lady while they journeyed thither, to visit their daughter, Lady Celebrían."

He went on. "For a year we tarried by the Bruinen, in the house of Elrond, and during that time, Nethrien and I grew fond of one another. However, as is often the way with Elves, we saw no need to hasten or define that which existed between us. Therefore, when it was time to depart, I returned to Lothlórien, secure in the knowledge that I would see her again. And I did, for Celebrían would travel hither every now and then, and being in her service, Nethrien would make the journey alongside her."

Continuing, Haldir explained that it was a simpler time. "I was merely a guard back then, a sentinel, the eldest of two sons, for Rúmil had not yet been begotten." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I was young, Annalyn. Young and untroubled. A calm lay upon our borders, and the surrounding lands were still quite fair. As for Nethrien, I found much delight in her company, and though we were not betrothed, our feelings grew all the more."

The sound of billowing curtains carried on the air, then a gentle wind reached the lounging couch. "I was content, and for a time Nethrien was also. But as the years lengthened, a change came over her, and I could see she desired more than the unhurried courtship we had settled into. A part of me wanted to honour her wishes, and ask for her hand, for I did love her. Yet something always held me back. I could never explain it, not to her, not even in my own thoughts. Only long after did I realise what it was, a faint warning within myself, a quiet foreboding of woe to come."

For several heartbeats, his voice yielded to the faded sounds of night. When next he spoke, his voice had grown subdued. "The years lengthened. I continued to serve alongside my father and my brother. Then Rúmil was begotten. Alas, by then the world had turned grey. Then came that dreadful night, when my mother and father, and so many others, met their ends. Naught was ever the same again. Peace was threatened. And with evil stirring in the mountains, the Elves of Lórien despaired. When at the last, King Amroth announced that he would depart these lands, entrusting the realm to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, a good number of our people wished to follow him, including our Marchwarden at the time."

"In the months before Amroth departed, I received a summons." His eyes lost in reminiscence, Haldir proceeded to describe that day. Annalyn could almost see it. "A sorrow lay on the Golden Wood, yet the light was fair on the mound where the king's high house had been built."

"I remember it like it was yesterday," he continued. "Amroth stood by a tall window, his hair burnished by a beam of golden sunlight. Our Marchwarden was there, as was Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. When I arrived and bowed before them, it was she who came forward. Since Lothlórien would soon fall under her leadership, it fell to her to choose those who would serve as leaders and commanders amongst the remaining Galadhrim. 'The northern half of the forest', she said, 'I entrust to you, Haldir of Lórien.'"

A look of wonder suffused his features as he relived that moment.

"For the life of me, I could not understand why she would bestow such a role, such a heavy burden, onto me. As Amroth spoke words of his own, recounting the role I played in rallying our soldiers before the Balrog of Moria, the Lady Galadriel spoke in my mind. 'I have seen your heart,' she said to me. 'I see your strength and the depth of your devotion. You will make a fine Marchwarden, should you accept." Haldir took another sip of wine. "Stunned I was, and deeply honoured, but I would be lying if I said I was not frightened. In fact, I was quite terrified. It was a grave responsibility, yet I could not turn away from the task that was appointed to me."

Annalyn smiled a little at that. Haldir was not one to shirk his responsibilities. He would do anything for the realm.

"Thus I stood before Amroth and all those assembled and, giving my answer, assumed the mantle of Marchwarden of the North. Indeed, it was a time of great change. Amroth and Nimrodel departed. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel remained." Great fondness filled his features then. "Thus began their rule. To mark the occasion, a great feast was planned. It was then that Celebrían journeyed hither one last time, with Nethrien in her retinue of guards. But our reunion was not as joyous as they had been in the past, for she had grown weary of waiting. With tears in her eyes, Nethrien spoke of remaining in Lothlórien, of joining the border guards so she and I could finally wed."

Haldir grew sorrowful. "Her words remain with me to this day. She said, 'If you love me and wish to bind yourself to me, then speak now. Otherwise let me go.'" There was a long silence. "I did love her, yet I could not ask her to leave Rivendell, the home she loved so. I was not in a good place to entertain such a step. Marriage. The enormity of what it means. My head just wasn't there. But more than that, deep down, I knew that my fate lay elsewhere. The safety of the realm now lay partly in my hands. And then there were my brothers. While Orophin was near to me in his years, Rúmil was only eighty when our parents died. I felt he needed me. They both did. And so, wanting to be fair to Nethrien, thinking it was best, I hearkened to her plea, and released her by ending what we had."

The guilt in his words was unmistakable.

"It was the last time I saw her. When she finally left for Rivendell, it was not long before we received the news that Celebrían had been waylaid in the mountains, her soldiers scattered or slain. Nethrien, she…" His voice faltered but, clearing his throat, Haldir promptly gathered himself. "It was said that her spirit had already left her body when the Orcs carried her away."

His head fell forward then, weighed down by guilt and unimaginable pain.

"I am so sorry, Haldir." The words seemed wholly inadequate. At length, another question formed in Annalyn's mind, one she sensed was safe to ask. "Do you regret it? Not marrying her."

"I do harbour feelings of regret," he said, "but not for that reason. Rather I regret the hurt I caused her. I regret my inability to grant her wishes and love her as she deserved. For Nethrien was a light. She deserved better than what little I gave during those years. I oft wished it was not so. But no matter how deeply I cared for her, I was never ready. I think that, deep down, I knew that loving her was not enough, that we were not fated to join our lives in that way."

Annalyn could understand that, at least in part. As for what came afterward…

"Perhaps if my _fae_ had called to hers…" Haldir was staring into empty space, his brows furrowed as though a great enigma had come to his mind.

"Your _fae_?" she stammered.

His tone was distant. "It is the Sindarin word for spirit." One might have said he was speaking in metaphors, but there was something about the way he said it. His mouth worked, but no words came. Instead, Haldir turned his face and regarded her strangely for a long moment. It was a most remarkable look.

Hoping to clear her confusion and make sense of all this, Annalyn sat a bit straighter. "So the spirit knows, then. When love is meant to be it calls to the other?" She had never heard of such a thing, not even in the fairy tales of her youth.

Haldir watched her still, intently. But then, severing the visual connection, he abruptly shook his head as one who dismisses a thought.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yes. Forgive me, where was I?" He smoothed a hand over the back of his neck. It was a moment before he could pick up the thread, explaining that it was "a knowing" of sorts, both innate and profound.

"So when Elves choose to wed, they have this connection between them," Annalyn reasoned, trying to understand. "A soul bond of sorts?"

"It is oft the case, yes, but not always. For Elves can fall in love in the same way mortals do." Haldir then went on to say that many chose to wed even without a prior soul bond, that the binding nature of marriage achieved more or less the same thing. "If not for the warning in my heart, I might have done exactly that. But with Nethrien, I felt the truth of it in my bones, that she and I were not meant to be. As I bid her farewell and watched her leave, it was my hope that she would find joy someday. Instead, she died."

Her heart broke for him. Seeing his guilt, Annalyn felt compelled to say, "It was not your fault. You are burdened enough as it is. Do not carry this guilt as well. You could not have known." Unthinking, Annalyn reached out just then, her hand brushing the side of his thigh.

For a moment she feared she had blundered, but when Haldir looked to her, the pain in his features seemed to lessen. It made her think that, perhaps, over the centuries he had learned to live with the guilt she had perceived in his eyes. And that somewhere deep in his heart, Haldir had begun to make peace with his decision and forgive himself. She hoped he had, with all her heart.

"Now you," he began, "Why did you never wed?"

Annalyn blew a heavy breath. "Why?" Caught completely off guard, she knew not how to answer. After a long pause, her shoulders rose dejectedly. "I considered it once. But it was foolish, and today I am quite relieved that I never went through with it."

Curious, Haldir asked her why that was.

"Because I wanted to believe in him. Because I did believe in him, and he betrayed me."

Haldir frowned at that.

As painful memories surfaced once more, Annalyn stared hard at her wine. "His name was—is—Wilmaer, and I met him one night, while fetching Aldin in the mead hall…"

And so she told him the entire wretched story, or most of it; she couldn't bear to speak of the night she had shared her body with him. Not now. Maybe never.

As Haldir listened in silence, Annalyn told him of how she had found love for a brief moment in time, that she had considered marrying the man. Then she described that awful day in the barn, when she had stumbled onto him and that maid. "It was humiliating," she said and felt it anew. "But the worst part is, I never saw it coming."

Having reached the end of her tale, Annalyn descended into a contemplative silence. For his part, Haldir sat unmoving, his stare directed at the floor. Then, "The man is a fool." Direct words, spoken without hesitation.

When Haldir looked sidelong at her, Annalyn noticed that his demeanour had hardened somewhat. While she could only guess what he was thinking, her story had had a definite effect on him. He seemed genuinely perplexed and deeply affronted by what Wilmaer had done. It made her think that, perhaps, such betrayals were uncommon among the Elves, maybe even unheard of.

His mouth fixed in a harsh line, Haldir set his glass down, and angled his body toward her. "And a blind fool at that." His choice of words amused her and she bit down a smile. But then Haldir spoke again, softly but with conviction, and what he said—the way he said it—took her breath away. "He must be, if he could not see what was in his grasp."

Her heart nearly faltered at that. But knowing they had reached a most slippery slope, Annalyn hesitated before steering the conversation in a safer direction. Angling her head to the side, she gave a small laugh and indicated the glass he had just set down. "Remind me again, how many glasses did you have this evening?"

"It is not the wine," he countered at once. His eyes, that usually hid so much, were open and earnest and utterly serious. "Any man would be fortunate to have you."

She stopped breathing this time, a question rising, unbidden, at the back of her thoughts. _Including you?_ His eyes appeared to say as much.

Her heart, her very soul seemed to leap toward him. _How am I going to let you go?_

She might have imagined it, but he seemed to guess her thoughts. Drawing a cheerless breath, Haldir sent his gaze to the floor, then closed his eyes. When he did not move away, a frown knitting his brow, she understood that he was waging a silent battle within himself. One she was waging as well.

As the moment hung there, Annalyn was struck by a sudden need to touch him, to lean against him and provide whatever comfort she could. Hearkening to her desires, she sat up. With closing eyes, she smoothed a hand along his back, and laid her cheek upon his shoulder.

His warmth radiated outward, soothing her even as her heart fractured within her chest. _Now who is strengthening whom?_

Haldir shifted then, turning his face until his lips brushed the top of her head. There he lingered a moment, his breath feathering against her hair. Then his hand rose, the backs of his fingers unhurriedly grazing the side of her cheek, her jaw, down to her chin. Slowly, he eased away, just a little, and tipped her face so she would meet his eyes.

Haldir said nothing. Instead, he perused her features and drank her in. At last, his gaze fell to her lips, softly fixating on them. He was now leaning toward her.

Her throat tightened. Annalyn could not swallow. She could scarcely even breathe.

Given the line they had crossed last night, she had expected more caution from him, from her as well. Entranced, Annalyn watched as he drew closer and closer still. Somewhere at the back of her thoughts, she remembered that they had spoken of this. Her loving him. Him loving her. It wasn't wise. And yet, here they were.

Once again, Haldir paused at the last second—to resist his own longing or seek her consent, she couldn't tell. And then, in a moment that would forever be graven in her memory, he claimed her mouth, kissing her with such need, it stole the air from her lungs.

As Annalyn clutched at him, her nails digging into his tunic, she opened fully to him. Indeed, there was nothing timid about the way he explored her mouth. His velvet tongue glided with and against hers, tasting, wanting, needing until—after a dizzying moment—their lips parted on a moist smack.

_Sweet Mearas…_

Mesmerised and breathing hard, Annalyn watched as Haldir beheld her with something akin to wonder. _"Nan i 'aear ah in elin,"_ he seemed to marvel. The look in his rounded eyes... He had _never_ looked at her that way before.

But there was no time to think, let alone decipher his expression, for they were kissing again, with a depth of passion she had never known until now. Annalyn whimpered. Actually whimpered. Then a final coherent thought formed in her mind: they were lost. Hopelessly and utterly lost.

The air grew thick. As Haldir rained soft open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, she allowed her head to fall back, shamelessly offering the column of her throat. Then her entire body was falling.

As he guided her in a slow and dizzying descent toward the cushion, Haldir's breath gusted hotly against the hollow at the base of her throat. Amid their panting breaths, he whispered something in Sindarin—words of endearment or a prayer, she knew not. When he braced a hand by her head, shifting to lie alongside her, the couch groaned softly beneath their combined weight.

Their mouths fused again.

Caras Galadhon, the Golden Wood, the surrounding rivers and valleys; none of those places existed in that moment, for Annalyn's world had narrowed to this very room, to the lounging couch, and the beautiful soldier who had somehow managed the impossible. In a few short months, Haldir had made his way into her battered heart, establishing that she could, in fact, love and trust again.

When his palm found station on her hip, drawing her impossibly close, Annalyn went willingly. More than willingly. Unable to help herself, she slid her thigh over his, until her calf brushed the back of his knee. Her boldness caused his hooded gaze to widen for a moment, just long enough for her to notice. Then his lashes lowered once more, and he made a sound that was part sigh part groan.

They hadn't planned this. But then, they weren't really thinking at this point—Annalyn certainly wasn't. She had lost her head, it seemed. For the second time in her life. But then this wasn't a year and a half ago, and he was not Wilmaer.

This was Haldir.

Haldir whom she trusted.

Haldir whom she loved above all others.

As inscrutable as he could be at times, he was anything but at the moment. His emotions radiated off of him. Hot-blooded and bold, he rolled over her in one fluid motion, fitting his hips to hers. She gasped. They both did. Except for their heaving chests, they stilled, watching the other with unabashed desire in their eyes.

Haldir wasn't exactly shaking, but there was a tremulous quality to his breathing as he held his weight off of her with straining arms. He was aroused, and he was letting her feel it. Swallowing thickly, she watched as his head tipped forward, his hair curtaining both their faces. Thus they lingered, stuck at a crossroads, brow to brow.

To stop or keep going.

Annalyn willed her racing thoughts to slow. If Haldir wished to make love, and asked her to, what would her answer be?

A resounding yes most like.

But if she gave herself to him, surely he would know it wasn't her first time. What would he make of that, she wondered. Surely, he wouldn't think any less of her.

Would he?

Haldir had never wed, it was true. But he had loved a woman once. Being three thousand years old, she figured he must have indulged in physical intimacy at one point or another. Judging by the passionate and confident manner in which he had claimed her mouth, Annalyn was convinced he had. And so her worries quieted.

As Haldir touched the side of her neck, Annalyn hearkened to her curiosity by gliding her hands over his scalp, down his warrior braid. She would never admit it, but she had always wanted to do this, had wondered what his hair felt like. Now she knew. The strands were as soft and luxurious as they looked. Golden silk, she decided and shivered when he nuzzled her temple, his breath ghosting over the rim of her ear when he whispered. " _Ae! Ci írui._ "

Her eyelids falling heavily, Annalyn had to smile. "I have no idea what you just said."

It was a moment before he could answer. "You tempt me." A shudder went through him. Roughly, he added, "You cannot know how much."

Annalyn's womb quivered. Then, with earnestness in her eyes, she sought his gaze, and tried not to tremble. "What do you want to do?" At his silence, she asked again. "What is it you want this night?"

"What I want… Ah, _firiel_ , if you only knew."

Something seized in her chest. "Then tell me. Please."

A look of profound regret swept over his features, then he pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. Sensing he was about to end what had kindled between them, a wave of desperation washed over her. Annalyn found she could not let go. Not yet. And so, with a lump in her throat, she deepened their kiss, pouring all that she felt in the worshipping of his mouth.

Whether it was instinct or a final act of indulgence, Haldir responded by rolling his hips against hers, sending a jolt of sensation throughout her body. " _Ae_ …" he whispered when she threw her head back and sighed her pleasure. Seemingly bolstered by her reaction, he did it again… and again. Thus it was that Annalyn matched his movements, heightening the friction they both craved. For a selfish moment, she imagined they were lying skin-to-skin, that he was making love to her with the same unhurried rhythm he had initiated.

The friction was too much yet not enough.

"Annalyn…" Ah, but the way he said her name… Such need. Such passion. All for her.

Their mouths collided. Haldir's hand was on her thigh, winding proprietary caresses from her hip down to her knee, reversing course over and over again. But then, before her mind could catch up, she felt a change in him. Haldir made an anguished sound, as though he was grappling within himself. Then, as if it pained him deeply, he removed his hand from her thigh, closing it in a fist, before finally tearing his mouth from hers.

"Ah," he hissed and rolled off of her. "Forgive me."

They remained on their backs for several heartbeats, shoulder to shoulder, chests heaving. The lounging couch dipped. By the time Annalyn glanced at Haldir, he had already swung his legs off the edge, and was now gaining his feet.

Her heart pounding beneath her breast, Annalyn sat up, slowly, and watched as he paced around the room like a man who was trapped and tormented. As if that wasn't enough, Haldir would not meet her eyes.

Hand rising to smooth his hair, he stalked over to the desk, where he leaned forward with both palms braced on the surface. There, he calmed his breathing somewhat. "Forgive me," he said again, rending her heart.

"There is nothing to forgive, Haldir."

But he was shaking his head. "What came to pass just now… I began it. I should have shown more restraint."

 _I desired it, too_ , Annalyn wanted to say, sensing he needed to hear it. But her regret was such that the words refused to form.

In the ensuing silence, tears stung her eyes, and she laughed, in anguish mostly, at the unfairness of it all. "Gracious, look at us."

Gathering herself, Annalyn adjusted her rumpled clothing, and rose. In need of air, she walked past the table and approached the billowing curtains, parting them so she could breathe. The wind was cool and swift tonight, yet it helped not at all, and the suffocating feeling remained.

When, at long last, she faced the room again, Haldir was still facing the desk. He spoke no words, nor did he move.

Her love for him grew all the more in that moment. He was so honourable.

With quiet footfalls, Annalyn sought him out. As he stood there, she watched his profile. His normally proud shoulders were hunched forward, his fingers clutching the edge of the desk as if it were a lifeline. _He fears that he has blundered, that he has shamed me._ Nothing could be further from the truth. With nothing but love in her heart, Annalyn made to touch him, but stopped herself. Would he welcome her touch? Would it be fair to him? Her fingers hovered near to his shoulder for a beat longer, then she lowered her hand with a whispered, "I should go."

At first, Annalyn thought he would nod in agreement and bid her good night. Instead, he reached out all of a sudden, and blindly sought her hand, placing it against his cheek. He had yet to face her, but Annalyn could see that his eyes were closed. Without a word, he turned just enough to kiss her palm. He was nuzzling her fingers when he finally spoke. "I would like to see you before I head to the fences." Haldir released her hand without looking at her, his voice lowering when he said, "Unless you wish for me to stay away. I would understand if you did."

He meant it. Dismayed that he would think such a thing, Annalyn breathed his name. "Never," she told him. "In fact, if you leave without seeking me out, I will track you down myself."

The tension eased somewhat. They both huffed a laugh.

At last, Haldir faced her fully. With open sadness, he touched the side of her face, and leaned in to kiss her brow. "Rest well. I shall see you in the morning."

Nodding once, Annalyn somehow convinced herself to walk away, closing the door behind her as she emerged into the night. Going no further than the footbridge, she halted by the rail, and leaned against it. Regret besieged her. _What are we doing?_ They both clearly wanted this. Eternity being denied to them, couldn't they have one night?

Unless she was blinded by her own selfish desire, it seemed that Haldir had stopped more for her sake than his own.

Looking at his house, she wondered if he was wavering, too.

At the bottom of the double doors, lamplight could still be seen. But then, all of a sudden, the narrow gap went dark.

Her chest heavy with indecision, his words reverberated in her mind. " _What I want… Ah_ , firiel, _if you only knew._ "

But he hadn't told her, and she wanted to know. She _needed_ to know. If Haldir desired to have her, just this once, why was she standing out here, squandering what could be their one and only chance at truly loving one another, both body and soul?

Though a part of her was nervous—terrified—Annalyn pushed away from the rail and faced his house. Her feet began to move.

Yet doubt gnawed at her. _What if I have it all wrong? What if it's too much for him? What if he rejects me?_

Her chin lifted by a fraction. Regardless of his answer, Annalyn had to risk it. She had to know.

Trembling legs carried her to the doors, where she raised her hand, and readied herself to knock. Her wrist, however, refused to move. She was losing her nerve.

Annalyn lowered her arm, but instead of backing away, she remained where she stood, her hand coming to rest on one of the door handles.

A long moment went by, then another.

In what was the boldest or stupidest move of her life, Annalyn pressed down on the handle. The latch released with the softest of clicks. Then the door opened.

Summoning what remained of her tattered courage, she swallowed her trepidation, prayed she was doing the right thing, and walked inside.

* * *

_*Nan i 'aear ah in elin! – "By the sea and the stars!"_

_*Ae!_ _Ci írui – "Ah!_ _You're desirable."_

* _firiel_ – "mortal woman"


	43. A Quiet Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, whew! So this was harder to write than I thought. Gosh, I hope it reads okay.
> 
> Once again, I must thank all who have taken the time to read this story.
> 
> Side note: Because I can't write without music, I often find inspiration in the songs I listen to. Sometimes it's the tempo, sometimes it's the lyrics, or just the melody. This time around, it was a combination of all three. Some of the lyrics don't fit, but these few lines right here helped solidify what I wanted to do with this chapter.
> 
> Help me understand you love  
> Help me go the way you want me to go  
> 'Cause I can't guess the things that you're thinking  
> So help me understand you love  
> Tell me everything you want me to know
> 
> Song: Tell me (acoustic version) by Sabrina Claudio

CHAPTER XLIII

A QUIET FLAME

Haldir's home was dark, with the scent of candle smoke floating in the air. Doubtless the space was quiet, but as Annalyn stepped over the threshold, hoping this wasn't a colossal mistake, all she could hear was the rush in her veins, punctuated by the beating of her heart. Oh, how it pounded.

Brave or foolish. She couldn't decide.

Leaving the lamplit night behind, her eyes skimmed the shadows. Was he still in this room? Wanting to shut out the world, her trembling hand closed the door behind her, intensifying the darkness. Her back fell against the door. As her eyes adjusted, Annalyn swallowed against the tightness in her throat.

Save for a gap in the billowing curtains, all was as they had left it. Their empty dinner plates were on the table, as was their first bottle of wine. The second remained where Haldir had left it, on the floor by the couch, next to their mostly empty glasses. The ones they had forgotten as they had fallen into each other's arms for a heady moment in time.

Of Haldir, however, there was no sign. Perhaps he had stepped out for fresh air.

Cementing her decision, Annalyn set a cautious pace toward the east-facing _talan_ —a walk without end, and yet all too brief at the same time. She was now halfway across the room, the lounging couch to her immediate right. Trailing a finger along the slanted backrest, visions of earlier flashed in her mind.

_Haldir lying on top of her, aroused and breathless. The two of them sharing the same air as they beheld one another._

Her neck and face grew hot. Annalyn felt that delightful ache again, pooling at the crux of her thighs.

Though unintended, their conversation about their past loves had opened a door tonight. A door they had briefly walked through. And now, here she was again, searching for Haldir, yearning to know if he wanted the same thing she did.

Annalyn would not lie to herself. She desired him, and would lie with him tonight, if he would have her.

It was strange how just a few hours ago, she would have deemed it wrong and unjust, for both of them. But with their story soon coming to an end, it seemed like the truest thing they could do at this point, a natural outcome as it were. _To love him, if only once_ , she thought with febrile hope.

The need that drove her feet was nigh overwhelming. As she walked onward, it overruled most of her doubts. If Haldir rejected her, Annalyn would have to swallow her disappointment, her pride—the acceptance of what was. But for now at least, the possibility existed; it lay before her as a tantalising and priceless treasure. To walk by and ignore it seemed like a sacrilege somehow. No, she needed to do this. She needed to know.

It was a gamble, yes. And the idea that this could be a grave misstep caused her knees to shake. But the undying regret of "what if" could be a lot worse than rejection, at least in her eyes. And so, with this balance in mind, Annalyn moved through the shadows, closer and closer to the open curtains, where she hesitated much like she had done at the door.

_What will he think upon seeing me?_

Annalyn wavered. She even debated turning around, leaving as unobtrusively as she had come. _He doesn't have to know._

A gust of wind pushed the curtain, widening the gap. Her feet moved forward, as if they had a will of their own. Out on the _talan_ , Annalyn looked left, and then right. She frowned. He wasn't here. Turning, she wondered where he might have gone, but then it dawned on her. _Of course. It's obvious, isn't it?_ Her gaze darted to the balcony above her head. _In his room. He's in his room._

The realisation caused her courage to fray a little. Surely, she was not so bold. With her palm over her thundering heart, Annalyn lingered by the curtains, and pondered what to do.

Rethinking her decision to intrude upon his personal space, she slipped back into the shadows and was making for the front door when a muffled _thud_ netted her attention. Annalyn halted again, her gaze rising to the flet-like bedroom above. Though it overlooked the main area of the house, the room itself could not be seen from down here. Another _thud_ sounded, as though he was rummaging for something or moving things around.

Her palms were sweaty. She had to wipe them on the front of her breeches. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, her feet were moving again, but instead of making for the door, they now carried her toward the curving stairs that lined the wall.

Annalyn must have been out of her mind. As if entering his home wasn't audacious enough, now she was making for his room. Surely, he would find it outrageous. And yet, like a moth to a flame, she kept climbing until, finally, she was there.

The moonlit room appeared empty. Noting the wrinkled impression on one side of the bed, it seemed he had sat on the edge of it. The sight of his boots, lying haphazardly nearby, explained the muffled _thuds_ she had just heard.

Annalyn stepped forward, but went no further than the foot of the bed. Her focus had narrowed to the partly open doorway next to his cupboard. Haldir had to be in there. The barely audible curse that followed confirmed it.

Self-conscious and ill-at-ease, she smoothed the front of her tunic, only to fist her hands into the fabric, twisting this way and that. Annoyed by the nervous display, she stopped fidgeting _. Get a hold of yourself, Annalyn. If you wish to leave, then leave. But if you stay, at least look like you wish to be here._ Because she did. In fact, there was nowhere else she would rather be.

Annalyn now stood a little taller, her hands taming her hair before they came to rest at her sides.

As she waited for him to emerge, the sound of water floated through the open doorway. When the splashing ceased, a black bundle flew into her field of vision, landing in a soft heap on the floor. With rounded eyes, Annalyn realised he had tossed his tunic.

No, this was most definitely a mistake. How could she ever think this was a sound idea? The answer materialised. She wasn't; Annalyn wasn't thinking at all. Instead, she had allowed her foolish heart to guide her actions.

She blanched. What if he was unclad in there? If he walked out of that room and found her standing here, violating his privacy…

Panic seized her. Annalyn took a single step back. Mindful of the drop behind her, she had just taken a second step when a sharp whisper sounded. The Sindarin word was unfamiliar to her, but she felt certain he was cursing again. Another splashing sound followed. It seemed he was pouring water in a washbasin.

Suddenly desperate to get out of there, Annalyn was half-turned when a shape moved at the edge of her sight. Mortified, she halted and looked just as he was stepping out. Much to her amazement, he did not see her at first, but when he did, Haldir came to a dead stop. The catch in his breath could not be missed. Had he stopped breathing altogether?

Her mouth going dry, Annalyn took ownership of her decision by facing him fully. With the steadiest gaze she could muster, she swallowed her vulnerability, and tried to look dignified. There was only one reason she would have ventured up here. She knew it, and Haldir knew it, too.

Trapped by his eyes—as dark as night they were—Annalyn clung to her courage and squared her shoulders. She was also staring, looking him up and down because… well… it was hard not to.

With a towel in hand, Haldir stood barefoot and shirtless, his hair, his face, and the upper half of his torso dripping wet. Seeing him now, Annalyn guessed that he had poured cold water over himself in hopes of cooling his blood. A vain part of her thrilled at the thought, while the rest of her felt rather bad for the state she had left him in.

Not that she was faring any better. Fire was now entrenched in her being. But then it had been long since she had been with a man. To her unending regret, the last and only time had been with Wilmaer.

The fact that she had shared so much of herself with such a disloyal man shamed her still. How unfair it was that Wilmaer had touched her when Haldir never had—at least not as intimately, for even in passion, he possessed a high degree of restraint. Self-control personified.

Tonight, Annalyn wanted nothing more than to see that control give way, to experience the full depth of what he felt for her and return it with equal and unbridled measure. Just this once.

Haldir beheld her from across the room, his voice unwontedly strained when he said, "You shouldn't have come."

If not for the hope on his face, and the need which belied his words, Annalyn would have withered right then and there. But as it was, she stood her ground, defiant when she countered, "Shouldn't I?"

His eyes glazed over. Haldir was making for her, one slow step at a time.

Upon reaching her, he extended one hand until his finger grazed her sleeve. A whisper of a touch, tracing idle patterns over her elbow, down along her forearm, then finally over the top of her hand. Despite the coolness of his finger, his touch roused and moved her, prompting her to raise her chin and say, "You know why I've come. Is it your wish that I go?"

He closed his eyes, his jaw going taut. "You ask the wrong question." By this, Annalyn understood that it was not a question of whether or not he wanted her here. He did. So she framed her words in another way.

"I will leave if you ask me to. With no ill-will between us."

His eyes opened. He was staring at her.

Unable to hold his gaze—how it smouldered—Annalyn sought to settle her nerves by occupying her hands. Before she could question the wisdom in it, she had sought the towel in his left hand. In silence, she began to dab at the droplets covering his skin, her motions soft and slow.

Focused on the work at hand, Annalyn dried his brow, his cheek, his jaw, while he watched her through lowered lashes. Repeating the process for the other side of his face, Annalyn then went about dabbing his shoulders.

"Maybe it was foolish of me," she began in earnest, feasting her eyes on his sculpted muscles. "Maybe I am making a huge mistake by being up here. But when I left just now…"

For a moment, Annalyn forgot what she was going to say. Good gracious he was beautiful in body, strong and chiseled, his form even more perfect than she remembered—and her memories had been generous. Enraptured, Annalyn watched this Elf whom she loved, and willed air into her lungs. Recalling the night she had removed his stitches, in a fire-lit cave leagues away from here, Annalyn looked for a scar on his upper arm, but saw not even a hint of it.

Remarkable creatures, Elves.

"When I left just now," she tried again. "I found that I could not leave. I could not walk away without knowing if..."

As Annalyn brought the towel to his chest, he covered her hand with his own, stilling her movements. She sought his eyes again. The softness in them prompted her to go on. "I know that our story must end. I know that I am but a fleeting spark next to your eternal light. But I thought that… tonight… if you wanted…"

Haldir said nothing. As the unbearable silence stretched on, Annalyn trembled in spite of herself. But somehow she trudged forth anyway. After all, how could she expect him to open up if she didn't do the same? An equal give and take. It was only fair. "Earlier on the couch… What you started, I desired it," she said, pausing for emphasis. "I still do."

His eyes fell closed at that, and a low groan rose in his throat.

"I want to touch you," Annalyn confessed, and followed through. Having dried the strong plains of his chest, she dropped the towel and stepped closer, both palms coming to rest beneath his collarbones. The water had cooled his skin, but if the wild beating of his heart was anything to go by, he would be a furnace before long. "I want to feel your skin against mine," she whispered and marvelled at her sudden boldness.

While his eyes remained closed, his hands found her hips, his fingers curling in tender possession.

Maybe he would find her desperate and all too daring, but seeing his reaction, Annalyn chose to reveal more. To reveal all. Consequences be damned. "I want to feel you above and inside me,"—his breath hissed—"I want to see you come undone. I want to see your face when you rejoice."

She was shaking like a leaf. _Good gracious me, did I just say that? Out loud?_

Haldir had yet to move or say anything, his mouth partly open as he absorbed her words.

No longer able to stand the wait, Annalyn moved a little closer, her arms snaking over his shoulders, her hands linking at his neck. "I have told you what it is I want." A pause. "Now you. Tell me." A plea, delivered on scarce more than a breath.

Haldir's posture was rigid, his jaw flexing as the moment stretched on until she couldn't bear it anymore. "If you cannot tell me, then please… show me—"

She gasped, for he'd hoisted her up, suddenly and without warning, his hands supporting her thighs as her legs wrapped around his narrow hips _. So much for cold water._ She swallowed hard. Nose to nose, Annalyn found him staring at her, sharing heavy breaths in the narrow space between their mouths.

They were really doing this. _At long last_.

With her ankles locked behind his powerful legs, Annalyn held to him as if her life depended on it. Without a word, Haldir started carrying her toward the cloud that was his bed. When he started lowering her, she had to remind herself to breathe. Haldir sank one knee into the mattress, then the other. Supporting her with one arm, he crawled his way up to the pillows. His movements were slow and fluid, balanced and controlled, as if she weighed nothing. He set her down.

Ready and willing, she relaxed against the bed, while Haldir remained kneeling, his elven eyes unabashedly raking her form and making her ache.

When this picture of masculine grace finally leaned forth to hover over her, his strong hand skimming along her outer thigh, her knees parted in invitation. Sighing in delight, Haldir settled between them, holding his weight on one arm, much like he had done earlier in the night.

Yielding to her desires, she touched his body again. To give her free rein, he rose up a little higher. His muscled core was firm and taut beneath her questing fingers, his skin impossibly smooth, and much warmer than before. The anticipation was such that Annalyn could barely stand it. She wanted all of him. If he didn't take her soon…

The curtains rustled again. Somewhere in the city, an elven woman cast her voice in a song, the soft and melodious words a perfect backdrop to what they were doing, or were about to do. Stamping down on her impatience, Annalyn captured her bottom lip with her teeth, and waited to see what Haldir would do.

With utmost tenderness, he laid a kiss upon her temple, her jaw, her neck. Journeying downward, he hooked a finger on the neckline of her tunic, drawing it down just enough to kiss his way past her collarbone. Drawing the neckline back up, he resumed his journey south, easing away until he lowered his mouth to a spot just above her navel. Haldir's breath was hot. She felt it as he kissed her through her clothing.

Seemingly content to remain where he was, Haldir lingered in this fashion for long moments, holding to her as he breathed in and out, in and out. Reaching for him, Annalyn smoothed both of her hands over his wet braids. She was skimming the pointed tips of his ears when he finally spoke against her abdomen.

"Before this night, I never knew I could be so self-serving."

It took a heartbeat or two for his words to sink in. _Self-serving?_ At a loss, Annalyn opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again. Before she could ask him what he meant, he said, "I am being most unfair to you."

"How do you mean?"

"I thought of this, dreamed of this, so many times." Haldir nuzzled her for a moment more. When he finally looked up, there was naught but longing in his eyes. "Having you in this very bed. _Ae_ … You cannot know how badly I desire it."

Shivers raced across her skin. But as his expression changed to one of regret, Annalyn's heart sank. She already knew what he was going to say.

"As much as I would love to, I cannot take what you offer." With that, he rose onto his knees again. "I would lose my heart, Annalyn." These words, twinned with the sight of him, head bowed in anguish…

Tears clouded her sight.

"I am sorry," he said at last.

"I see," was all she said, all she could think to say. Disappointed and rather embarrassed, Annalyn sat up while Haldir remained where he was. Earlier, she had said that if he could not do this, there would be no ill-will between them. And to that, she held. And yet to say that she wasn't sad, even devastated, would have been a lie. Hoping to conceal how crushed she was, Annalyn faked a dim smile.

Hindsight being what it was, she should have known that it would be this way. Haldir was passionate, with a great capacity to love. But he was also a realist who was fiercely protective of his heart. He was also wise.

Earlier in the night, Annalyn had believed they could do this, that they could have this night in hopes that it would sustain them henceforth. Perhaps she had been deluding herself. Perhaps she would lose her heart as well. To know his touch, his body, only to walk away in the end... it might be more than she could handle. It certainly was for Haldir.

No, she couldn't blame him, and would not begrudge him.

"I understand." Her voice sounded meek to her ears. As her composure fractured a little, Annalyn lowered her eyes and swung her legs off the edge of the bed. "I will go."

Doing exactly that, she had just taken to the steps when Haldir said her name. She halted. It was a moment before she could find the strength to look over her shoulder.

He was kneeling still, facing away from her. " _De i velethril e-guil nîn._ "

Her lip trembled, then her breath hitched. _Ah, but why does he do this?_ Spilling his heart in Elvish so she wouldn't understand.

At long last, Haldir turned to catch her eyes. His beautiful face was gut-wrenchingly somber, but there were tears in his eyes. Tears, she marvelled as one of them spilt onto his cheek. The sight of his pain only magnified her own.

The moment hung there. Her composure hanging by a thread, Annalyn found she had to turn away. Her hand flew to her mouth. Then she was running down the stairs. At the bottom, she crossed the space, reached then opened the door, and hastened out into the lonely night.

* * *

* _De i velethril e-guil nîn –_ "You are the love of my life."


	44. Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a heartfelt thank you goes to all my readers and reviewers. Each and every one of your comments, I cherish as a gift. A thousand times thank you.

CHAPTER XLIV

CHOSEN

Haldir hit the first target with frightful accuracy, the wood splintering as the arrow shook then grew still. At full sprint, he reached over his shoulder, retrieving another arrow as he launched himself on a nearby tree limb. Without breaking pace, he shot the second target, then the third, and leapt on another branch.

On and on he went, circling the moonlit training yard until his quiver was empty. As he hooked his bow upon his back, Haldir grasped a sturdy branch, swung forward, and fell upon the turf in a silent crouch.

He was moving again, hand closing about the hilt of his sword.

Since the city never really slept, the air should have held the echo of songs—and it most likely did—but Haldir was deaf to everything except for the thundering of his heart and the laboured cadence of his breathing.

Ah, but he was reeling.

His world had toppled end over end tonight—not once but twice—and naught would ever be the same again.

The first upheaval had come by way of a discovery, most startling and unforeseen. But the second… the second had come by his own hand, a most unfortunate blunder that he wished he could take back. More than anything.

If he had been stronger, braver in his words, the night might have played out differently. Maybe Annalyn wouldn't be hurting as badly as she was now.

To be sure, Haldir should have handled things differently. Instead, he had made a mess of things, and in so doing had done the unthinkable; he had wounded the woman he loved. The love of his life, he had called her immediately after breaking her heart—though she had no idea, for he had said it in Sindarin.

Had he spoken in Westron or Rohirric, she likely would have thrown his declaration back in his face, and would have been right to do so after what he had done. Though he had known it wasn't right, he had indulged, touching her, kissing her, feeding her hopes only to deny her in the end.

If Haldir had had any sense, their evening would have ended with a stroll, with shared smiles and a heartfelt kiss to her hand. Instead, he had invited Annalyn into his home, to dine with him at last. And then—though he hadn't meant to—he had bruised her heart.

And yet, as much as he regretted his loss of control—or rather the pain it had caused her—those maddening moments had opened his eyes to a vital truth. A truth that might have gone unnoticed otherwise, masked by ignorance or denial. Oh, he might have learned it in time, maybe years from now, when it was too late. But the pieces had come together at last. And now he knew.

Tonight on the couch, after tempting fate one too many times, his will had finally crumbled, and he had kissed Annalyn, deeply and thoroughly, like he had long desired to. Just this once, he had promised himself as he had wrapped his arms around her delicate frame.

But as he had finally lowered the walls, expressing more than he had planned, a strange awareness had crept into his thoughts, similar to what he had felt as he and Annalyn had stood beneath the fruit trees, then again as they had spoken of their past loves and hurts. Up until tonight, this particular feeling had been foreign to him, but during those maddening moments on the couch, he had finally learned the truth.

Even now, Haldir recalled the moment he had made the connection, how wonderstruck he had been. Overcome, he had briefly severed the kiss to peer into her hazel eyes, where he had seen the truth, staring back at him. " _By the sea and the stars!_ " he had said then, in Elvish.

 _Am I so blind? How could I not know?_ It seemed so obvious now.

For the first time in his immortal life, Haldir's spirit had stirred in recognition of another. Annalyn. The woman he loved. The woman he wanted above all others. And she loved him in turn.

Amongst his people, such bonds were thought of as a blessing. But this gift, Haldir knew, was not given to all. Even those who longed for it, like he once had, in those quiet years before he had broken Nethrien's heart, before she had died.

Following that most painful chapter, Haldir had turned away from the idea altogether. He was a soldier, a Marchwarden, the eldest of three brothers. Duty and kin. That was his life.

For centuries, guilt had consumed him. To cope and forget, he had devoted himself to what he knew and did best, guarding the realm against the evils of this world.

But then, on a fair autumn day, Annalyn had wandered into these woods and into his life, like a warm rain that finds you unaware, the kind that nurtures the loam and brightens the leaves. And now he was drowning.

For he and Annalyn were of two kindreds, and the gift of Eru Ilúvatar could not be set aside. Like a streaming light cast from the heavens, her passage in life would be distressingly fleeting. While he, like the everlasting stars overhead, would linger behind, forever remembering and grieving, for the remainder of Annalyn's life, and long after her body turned to dust—no matter where they went from here.

The edge of his sword sliced the air in desperate anguish, yet the action failed to quiet the raging storm in his heart. Hastening in speed, Haldir gritted his teeth, but his turmoil crested anew, like a colossal wave breaking upon a grey shore.

When two soldiers approached the training yard, Haldir shot them a look, a warning that this was not a good night to train alongside him. The pair halted at once, blinked in surprise, but then, exchanging a nervous glance, they mumbled their apologies and hastened off. But no sooner had they gone, than he slowed to a walk, then halted altogether, his ragged breaths severing the stillness as his hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Throughout his life, Haldir had sometimes been called aloof, cold. But guarded though he was, his heart was not made of stone. _If only it was_. Things might be easier now. To be sure, he would not be suffering so.

When he had pulled away from Annalyn tonight, ceasing the madness he had started earlier in the evening, Haldir had been so lost and conflicted. For truth of the matter was, he could have wed her a thousand times this night. And though he sensed that their joining would have been profound and meaningful to her, Annalyn did not yet know how it was with the Elves, that by lying with her, he would have been hers, and she would have been his. A bond absolute and eternal. A marriage in every sense of the word.

In the end, he had stopped, though—as he should—for such a union could only be made in full knowledge and consent, from both man and woman. Amongst the Elves it was both custom and law.

As for the Secondborn, they too had their traditions, beliefs and customs, and the rite of marriage was one of them. In his role as scout and messenger, Haldir had had a unique opportunity to observe the race of Men over the centuries. Some, he sensed, loved with a fierceness that rivalled that of the Elves. After the loss of their spouse, some widowed men and women chose to spend their remaining years alone. Of those he had known, some had been widowed rather young. But the race of Men differed from the Elves in many ways. While some widows stayed true to their lost loves, others chose to remarry, for it was in their character to heal and trudge forth. Resilient creatures they were, with much diversity from one person to the next.

Some, he had learned, were wont to love in secret, outside of the bonds of marriage. Haldir's keen eyes missed little, and he had noted such things—young lads and maids sometimes slipping away from late-night gatherings, their dancing eyes betraying their intent. Although such dalliances clashed with the elven way, Haldir found there was beauty in such unions, so long as the lovers were true of heart. But some Men, he now knew, were not so faithful in love.

Earlier in the night, when Annalyn had spoken of the fool who had betrayed her and broken her heart, Haldir had been so stunned and angry for her. How could a man who claimed to love a woman do such a thing? _If she was mine, I would never_ … But she wasn't his, even with the stirring of his _fae_.

 _Remember this_.

Thankfully—for a mercy—Annalyn had discovered the truth in time. The idea that she might have wed such a man… If this Wilmaer could be called such.

 _Undeserving cur_.

For the second or third time this night, Haldir wondered if Annalyn had shared her body with him. While he couldn't know for certain, and fervently hoped it wasn't the case, it was a distinct possibility, one he found rather distressing. The notion grieved him, if he was honest. Not because it lessened her worth in his eyes—nothing ever could—but because she deserved so much better.

His thoughts eddying back to earlier in the night, Haldir remembered the words she had said to him in his room.

" _I know that our story must end. I know that I am but a fleeting spark next to your eternal light. But I thought that… tonight… if you wanted…_ "

Though beguiled by the tail-end of her declaration, her opening words had saddened him. Fleeting she might be, but a spark she was not. To him, Annalyn was a shining light, as radiant as the Star of Eärendil. In simple terms, she was his everything. And tonight, when she had bravely come to him, her intent writ clear in her eyes, he had nearly fallen to his knees.

Their earlier encounter on the couch had lit such a fire in him that Haldir had been reduced to pouring cold water over his head in hopes of cooling his blood. It hadn't worked. Frustrated by his lingering lust, and reeling from the earth-shattering discovery he had made earlier on the couch—that his _fae_ called to hers—Haldir had cursed aloud a few times, unaware that Annalyn had been waiting outside.

When he had re-entered his room, and found her standing there, nervous and hopeful beneath his startled gaze, the embers in his blood had reignited.

Consumed by a blazing need to touch and love her, Haldir had closed the space. So tempted was he that it had taken all his strength just to keep from pulling her against him. If she only knew how close he had come to ravishing her right then and there.

Her body shaking like a leaf, Annalyn had summoned that indomitable courage of hers, and bared her hopes to him, even going so far as sharing her innermost desires.

What she had said to him… they were the boldest, most intimate, and arousing words he had ever heard. And when she'd turned the tables, asking him what he wanted, begging him to show her, his control had finally buckled, and he had hoisted her up into his arms, setting her upon his bed like he had long dreamed of doing.

But Haldir had erred. He was an Elf. He could not lie with her in the way she wanted, as a final indulgence before they said goodbye. No, for him, it didn't work that way.

" _I would lose my heart, Annalyn_ ," he had said to her then, hoping she would know how utterly sorry he was. But though he had spoken the truth, Haldir had withheld a crucial fact, that she already owned his heart. Indeed, his _fae_ had chosen, and his choice was her. _She does not even know._

Going back to those final moments in his room, he wondered what he could have said. To be sure, she deserved better than the cowardly path he had chosen—declaring his undying love for her in a language she struggled to understand. When had he become such a craven?

With bitterness in his heart, Haldir was on his way to retrieve his arrows when a voice echoed over the turf. "When I saw you leave your home, with your bow slung upon your back, I had a strong feeling I would find you hither."

Orophin.

Shuttering the pain from his features, Haldir turned to see that his brother had followed after him, and was now standing on the edge of the training yard. By the compassionate look he wore, it seemed he had guessed some of what had happened tonight. Quietly, Orophin said, "Annalyn seemed quite distressed upon her return."

Hearing this, Haldir hung his head, his brows furrowing as guilt threatened to consume him once more. He had hurt her tonight, humiliated her even. When he had pulled away from her, it wasn't a rejection. Far from it. But Haldir was not blind. Although Annalyn had tried to hide it, he had seen how utterly devastated she was, how rejected she had felt. Could he ever hope to set things aright?

Prior to leaving his home, Haldir had debated walking over to his brother's dwelling, so he could apologize to her, and explain. But his thoughts were so jumbled, he had thought better of it. If he went to her now, with half-formed explanations and a hastily constructed apology, she might slam the door in his face. He wouldn't blame her if she did.

No, he thought. The safest and wisest course was to wait until morning. And that's what he would do.

Walking forth, Orophin sighed and regarded his older brother. "It grieves me to see you thus."

"You should not have come." Haldir whirled away and made for the nearest targest, thinking— _hoping_ —that Orophin would honour his wishes and leave. Alas…

"I am your brother. Where else would I be? A sorrow is upon you. Do not think I cannot see it."

Haldir bristled at the scrutiny, yet he did not deny his brother's observation. As he yanked at an arrow, Orophin's words pierced his breaking heart. "You love her."

His eyelids fell heavily. _More than you could ever know_.

"I had begun to think that you did, but now it is plain to see." A murmur, laced with both gladness and sorrow. The latter overshadowed the former however, for—like all the Elves—Orophin knew what would come of such a union. Should Haldir pursue his love for her, he would buy it at a terrible price.

"Have you told her?" Orophin asked.

"She knows." About his feelings at least. The stirring of his _fae_ , on the other hand, was known only to him, and would remain that way.

"What will you do?"

Orophin's persistence rankled him. "Can you not let this rest?" Despite what his spirit wanted, this was by no means an easy choice.

Even if he was to give in and court her in hopes of joining his life to hers, how could he bear it? How could he bear seeing her wither away and die? Indeed, there was a limit to the amount of suffering one could endure.

And then, what of her wishes? For the fact remained, Annalyn was mortal. And life spans aside, there were striking differences between their two peoples. Not only in how they viewed the passage of time, but in the way they generally lived their lives.

Even if she desired a life with him, would Annalyn be content among the Elves? Or would she grow restless? Then, when time had robbed her of her youth, how would she feel seeing him unchanged—at least on the outside. Would she grow to resent him? Would she feel shame at the wilting of her body? Would she mistake his grief for revulsion or pity? There was no way to know these things.

When Orophin failed to move, his solemn gaze undettered, Haldir stalked toward the next target.

"Our fates are sundered. It is best if she departs," he said to himself or his brother, he did not know. "The blood of the Rohirrim runs through her veins, the restless fire common to all mortals. Annalyn loves the Horse Plains and her people. Yet she yearns for the mountains, and hopes to wander the world again someday."

Haldir, on the other hand, had pledged his life to safeguarding Lothlórien. He could not, would not, forsake his people.

Having retrieved his arrows, he returned each one to his quiver. "We Elves are not the same. We tarry and we wait. We remember and watch the world go by, and we are grieved to see it so changed. Arda is marred, Orophin. It was marred long ago, and repeatedly. And now its wounds are deepening."

The weight of it was crushing. _If Lothlórien should fade_ …

Now Haldir faced his brother. "And in case you need reminding, war is looming. I am certain you have heard the whispers. You and I both know what lies ahead.

"That the time of the Elves is over? Yes, I have heard such words of late. But there are some who believe otherwise, that these evil days shall pass and that Lothlórien will endure."

"Is it your belief as well?" Haldir challenged, though he desperately wished to believed it, too.

A weighty pause ensued. "I do not know."

"The world is balanced on the edge of darkness, and yet here I stand, my heart in turmoil and my thoughts diverted." It was unbecoming of a Marchwarden.

 _Perhaps it will be easier once she has gone_. No sooner had he thought this than an image flashed in his mind—Annalyn sitting atop her horse, riding southward and away, never to return. His _fae_ riled at the thought.

Indeed, Haldir had come very near to asking her to stay tonight. But as he had held to her, he had restrained himself, for Annalyn had responsibilities of her own. " _Erna deserves to know_ ," she had said to him once, referring to the woman Aldin had loved. A woman who still awaited her beloved, and deserved to know of his passing. Haldir understood, for he had borne similar responsibilities in the past. Thus he had amended his musings. _Go to Rohan and do what must be done, but return to me_. Yet his secret wish had remained unspoken.

"So then you have decided," Orophin said to him. "You are truly going to let her go?"

 _He approves of her_. The sorrow in his brother's words gave it away. Quite frankly, Haldir was stunned. But then his heart hardened again _._ Whether Orophin approved or not was beside the point. _It changes nothing._

"Do you not see that the choice is out of my hands?" His biting words resonated over the training yard. "It was made long ago, by Ilúvatar himself. She is lost to me no matter what I do." Whether by her leaving, or by the temporal nature of her life, Haldir would lose her regardless. And unlike the elven descendants of Beren and Lúthien, he could not alter his fate. He could not choose a mortal life and follow her soul in death. He could fade, yes. He could languish in the Halls of Mandos. But once they were parted by death, Annalyn would be lost to him, until the world ended and was remade. And even then, there were no guarantees. For none could say what awaited their kindreds beyond the ending of the world.

"That may be so," Orophin went on. "Yet a choice you do have." His brother said no more. There was no need to.

As powerless as Haldir currently felt, Orophin was right. He did have a choice. Much like he had done with Nethrien, Haldir could accept their parting, letting Annalyn go in hopes that she would find happiness someday. Or else he could ask her to stay—to go to Rohan, then come back to him—so they might explore their feelings and find joy in what little time they could have.


	45. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I must thank my readers and reviewers. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.

CHAPTER XLV

ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS

The room was alive with shrill chirping, had been for several moments now.

Opening one bleary eye, Annalyn couldn't quite see through the thin curtains, but it was definitely light out. _So soon? But I just went to bed_. At least it felt that way.

She had gone to bed very late, it was true, and hadn't slept a wink. And now these birds were chirping away. Doubtless they were on the leafy branch just outside the open-air window. Their song was lively and melodious, but all too high pitched for one who had spent hours crying her eyes out.

"Ah, go away," Annalyn mumbled as she flopped onto her side, and heaved the blankets up to cover her ear—not that it helped. The birds were singing to the high heavens, or maybe they were calling to their feathered friends way across the city. Whatever they were doing, these songbirds were much too happy for her current mood.

Heartbroken and miserable, Annalyn ground her teeth, but that only worsened her headache. _Ignore them._ _Just ignore them._

To her dismay, their song actually rose in pitch.

No longer able to stand it, Annalyn muttered a curse, turned onto her stomach, and blindly reached out her hand until her fingers bumped into the curtains. Grasping the material, she gave it a violent shake in hopes that the moving fabric would frighten them away.

Alas, the birds remained.

Not only did the chirping continue, but if her ears could be trusted, it wasn't long before another bird alighted on the branch. Numbering three or four, they sang and flitted about and mocked her all the more.

Annalyn's nerves were so frayed, she groaned aloud, flung the blankets aside and swung her legs off the edge of the bed. "Fine!"

Silence.

"At last," Annalyn whispered, and was about to sigh in relief when the chirping resumed. Scowling, she leaned forward and yanked the curtain open.

Not three. Not four. _Seven_ birds. Some were preening their white feathers, while the rest were singing and hopping from branch to branch. They seemed not nervous at all, even when she glared at them. "I am awake, see?" She even stuck out her tongue at them, only to feel absurd immediately afterward.

Huffing a jaded laugh, Annalyn lowered her head and rubbed the knots from her neck. _When did I become such a child?_ "I must be losing my mind." Heartache and embarrassment could do that, she supposed. _Ah, but why did I go back last night? Why did I say those things to him?_ Such intimate things.

" _I want to feel you above and inside me. I want to see you come undone. I want to see your face when you rejoice_."

The desire on Haldir's face had matched her own, and for a brief moment in time, Annalyn had felt certain that he would make love to her. But it was not to be, for he had refused her in the end, saying he would lose his heart if he did.

Part of her understood his decision— _why make it harder to say goodbye?_ —but his rejection had stung nonetheless. It still did.

A gentle knock sounded. She froze.

"Annalyn?"

Stifling a groan, she looked to the ceiling, mouthed a silent, " _Why?_ "

Why couldn't Ithriel just let her be? Of course, she knew the answer to that question. Ithriel was her friend. And friends looked out for one another.

Even so, the previous night had left its mark. So humiliating.

Unbeknownst to Annalyn, Ithriel and Orophin had just returned from the feast when she had rushed into the house, with tears streaming down her face. Upon seeing them, she had stopped dead in her tracks, but too late. Their eyes had been on her.

To hide her distress, Annalyn had hastily wiped at her cheeks, faked a smile, and said, " _You've returned_."

Pathetic. Not to mention mortifying.

The pair had seen right through her, of course. How could they not?

When Annalyn had moved toward the staircase, saying she was going to turn in, Orophin had followed her with troubled eyes, while his wife had followed with her feet. But though Ithriel had meant well, Annalyn had hastened up the stairs, apologising as she had sealed the bedroom door before the healer could reach her.

Now Ithriel had returned. "I know you are not sleeping," she challenged from beyond the door. "I heard you berating those birds." When Annalyn failed to answer, Ithriel heaved an audible breath. "Very well. I brought you something to eat. I shall leave it out here, along with an ewer and basin and a few other things… Annalyn?" Another tentative pause. "If there is aught that you need, I shall not be far."

Annalyn appreciated her friend's concern. She truly did. However, she could not bring herself to speak, even to express her thanks. Her voice, she knew, would betray all that she felt right now. And if there was one thing Annalyn hated, it was when others could perceive her pain. It made her feel vulnerable and weak and terribly exposed. Honestly, she would feel less naked if she were parading around in naught but her skin.

So she sat there, unmoving until Ithriel's retreating footsteps could no longer be heard. Falling back against the sheets, Annalyn heaved a sigh, but found no rest. The events of the night kept repeating over and over in her mind.

To be sure, they had played a dangerous game. They had pushed beyond the established boundaries, going as far as they dared, just this once, and now their hearts were paying the price.

_What are we doing?_

Figuratively speaking, she and Haldir were both caught in a maelstrom. Round and round they went, anguished by what they wanted but could not have. It was torture quite frankly. So very unfair to both of them.

Exhausted, Annalyn dragged a hand over her face. "How long can we keep doing this?" And with these whispered words, a realisation began to set in.

She sat up. Her heart was in her throat. Her gaze darted about the room. The walls… The walls seemed to be closing in on her. Like a caged animal, she wanted out.

 _I cannot remain here. I must go_.

Now Annalyn was on her feet, turning this way and that, as her hand rose to smooth the tousled mess that was her hair.

"I must leave." She panted. _I must leave Lóthlorien_.

But how? And when?

 _Calm yourself._ This she repeated several times, until at the last her panic began to recede. With both hands finding the edge of the dresser, Annalyn peered into the small mirror that sat atop its surface, and cringed at seeing her red-rimmed eyes staring back at her.

 _A plan_ … _I need a plan_.

Before she could change her mind, Annalyn whirled around. Her pack. Where was it? _Under the bed, right_. On hands and knees, she retrieved the leather satchel with trembling fingers, tossing it on the bed even as she rose to fetch her clothing from the dresser. Choosing her warmest garments, Annalyn set them aside before shoving the rest in her pack.

"Alright, now what? Think." Her heart was beating so fast, it was a wonder it didn't burst from her chest. "Slow down," she said to herself. _You must think clearly_.

After a much needed pause, Annalyn gathered herself enough to remember the food and basin that awaited her on the landing outside. Before venturing out, however, she stopped to listen in case Ithriel was nearby. Hearing nothing, Annalyn cracked the door open, and peered outside. Seeing no one, she quietly reached for the tray by her feet, and shut herself in once again.

Having no appetite, Annalyn ignored the plate of fruit. Instead, she made use of the small ewer and basin, washing as best she could with soap that smelled mostly of lavender. By the time she had brushed her teeth and braided her hair, a plan was finally taking shape.

Last night, when Haldir had brought news of her horse, he had said that Cobalt was stabled by a field outside the city. He had suggested a guide, but there was no need for that. _All I need is to reach the gates_. From there, the stables should be easy enough to find.

 _I need but wait for cover of night_. Indeed, it would be more prudent, for the Elves of Lórien loved to gather beneath the stars, to sing or regale with stories. They would not notice her leaving—at least she hoped they wouldn't. Moreover, Haldir would be well on his way to the fences by then, thus eliminating the chance of running into him.

With burgeoning determination, Annalyn donned her smallclothes, chewed her lip, and nodded to herself. This could work.

But what about sustenance? _I have a bow. I can hunt_. _Though probably not in these woods_.

Since Annalyn was a guest here, and was therefore welcome to anything in the kitchens, it would be a simple thing to gather what she needed. Nuts and bread should do it, just enough to make it out of the Golden Wood. From there, she would manage on her own.

Her plan was sound, she thought. _But then why does it feel dishonest?_

Having laced the front of her tunic, Annalyn pulled up her breeches, and reached for her sword-belt. _It feels dishonest because you are leaving without so much as a word. No better than a thieving shadow, creeping away into the night._

To squelch her guilt, Annalyn thought of the previous evening and the pain, the tears in Haldir's eyes. As distasteful as all this was, she could do this for him. _The sooner I leave, the sooner he can move on_. _The sooner we both can_.

Now for the rest of her plan.

Once she had retrieved her horse, where should she go? South, of course. It was the way home, after all. But news travelled swiftly in the forest. When it came to the comings and goings along the border, little escaped the knowledge of Lórien's wardens. So then how could she leave without anyone alerting Haldir? If she departed like this, without telling anyone, he would be terribly upset, she knew, and it grieved her to hurt him. But this was the best thing for both of them.

 _What about that other warden? The_ _one who commands the Southern Fences_ … Grasping for his name, Annalyn made the bed, then remembered, _Erynion, yes_. Haldir had introduced them the other day, grudgingly it seemed. Unless she was mistaken, there had been some sort of tension between the two. _If I ask it of him, perhaps Erynion will respect my wishes and guard my plans until I am well away from these woods_.

Cemented in her decision, Annalyn swallowed her self-loathing, and hoped Haldir would forgive her in time.

And then it hit her.

 _If I leave tonight, and I do not see him ere he leaves, then that means…_ A lead weight settled in the pit of her stomach, a realisation so awful, she staggered back a step, and bumped into the dresser. _Have I seen the last of him?_

Three knocks sounded.

Her widened gaze flew to the door.

"Annalyn?"

Ithriel had returned.

Heart hammering within her chest, Annalyn moved away from the dresser, and smoothed the front of her tunic. _Calm yourself. Otherwise she will know_.

"Yes?" Annalyn winced at the nervousness in her voice. Managing a lighter tone, she said, "What is it?"

"May I come in?"

"No! I am… I am not dressed," she lied and felt stupid.

Whether Ithriel bought the lie or not, Annalyn could not say. But after a pause, the healer told her that Haldir was there. "He is downstairs and wishes to speak with you."

The blood drained from her face.

Haldir.

Haldir was here. _Good gracious me_.

Her thoughts in disarray, Annalyn paced aimlessly for a moment. _What should I do?_ Desperate and unthinking, she opened the door.

When Ithriel saw that she was fully clothed, her pale brows rose by a fraction, then she yelped as Annalyn suddenly pulled her into the room and sealed her in.

"Annalyn, wha—"

"What does he want? Did he say?"

In lieu of replying, Ithriel sought both of her hands, and gave her a pointed look. "Annalyn?"

"What?" She panted.

"You look like a wolf caught in a snare. Lest you wish to fall in a faint, might I suggest you breathe?"

In desperate need of an emotional anchor, Annalyn squeezed the healer's hands, and mimicked her breathing. Slow, deep breaths.

"Better?" Ithriel asked.

Some of the tension had already left her shoulders. Her legs felt steadier, too. "Better. Now please, tell me what did he say?"

"He asked to speak with you." Ithriel released Annalyn's hands, a look of sympathy upon her face. "I cannot claim to know all that happened last night, but if I were you, I would go to him. My husband's brother is usually adept at masking his feelings, but not today. A shadow of regret hovers over him."

At Annalyn's silence, Ithriel said, "He is leaving. This is your chance. Do not let it slip away."

Ithriel was right. This was her chance to see him one more time. The very last. Even so… "But what would I say to him? Last night was such a blunder." _I made a fool of myself._ And now they were both hurting.

"In that case, why not listen to what he has to say? If it can put things to right—"

"Put things to right? No." How could things be set aright when there was no changing who they were? Her heart mired in anguish, Annalyn schooled her features and reached for her boots.

"Then what shall I tell him?"

"Nothing."

Annalyn sat heavily on the bed. She was lacing her boots when Ithriel whispered. "Very well." To Annalyn's surprise, there was an air of defeat about her. But then Ithriel was a healer; it was in her nature to want to mend the hurts of others, even hurts that were not of the body.

Thinking she had failed, Ithriel gave a sorrowful nod and was about to leave when Annalyn said, "You misunderstand." Summoning her courage, she secured the laces. "You need not say anything because I will go, if only to hear what he has to say." _If only to see him one last time._

Ithriel seemed to take heart at that.

And so Annalyn steadied her nerves, and followed after her friend. But even as she exited the room, a wave of sadness came over her. For here she was, resolute in her decision to leave, and Ithriel had no idea. _Forgive me, my friend_.

With her gaze on the healer, Annalyn allowed herself to think of the people she had met here. Young Taerion. Glirwen and Bestedir. Orophin. Even Rúmil— _he should be happy at least_.

Save for her footfalls, silence reigned on the upper landing, but as Annalyn followed Ithriel down the stairs, her ears discerned male voices. Two of them, speaking in hushed tones.

When she finally saw them, Orophin and Haldir stood in the sitting area, both of them dressed in Galadhrim grey. Their swords were at their hips, their longbows slung over their arrow-filled quivers. As Annalyn descended the rest of the way, the two brothers fell silent. Haldir's eyes were on her, though.

"I will wait for you at the gates," Orophin told him in quiet Sindarin, his hand landing upon Haldir's shoulder in a show of support. As he and Ithriel exited the house, Annalyn forced her features into the most composed expression she could muster.

They were alone now. Part of her was relieved and grateful to see Haldir, but deep inside she was crumbling, too. Her feet took her partway across the room, where she slowed to a stop, unable to go any further.

_Am I truly doing this? Is this the last I will see of him?_

Haldir walked nearer to her, and she trembled beneath his unwavering gaze.

Annalyn should have said something—a greeting, anything—but her nerves failed her. Haldir was so incredibly perceptive. If she wasn't careful, he might very well divine her plan, and make leaving that much harder.

" _Ae,_ " he murmured by way of greeting, his tone as subdued as his eyes.

When Annalyn failed to reply, Haldir said, "It is good to see you."

"You came. I did not think you would."

His brows creased before he smoothed them again. "I could not leave with so much left unsaid between us."

Not knowing what to say to that, Annalyn suppressed the tears that were threatening to form. She waited.

"Last night…" He faltered for a moment, struggling to find the words. "There is much that I need to say, that I must say, lest you believe the worst of me." His gaze was downcast. "What happened between us… When I refused you… It is not what you think."

But Annalyn did not wish to speak of it. What would be the point? "There is no need to explain, Haldir. This entire situation has been difficult for both of us. I asked too much of you last night. I know that now. Can we not leave it at that?"

Haldir was shaking his head. "Nay."

Still, she would not be swayed. "Last night was a mistake. You know this. Even now, we err. It is unwise to be alone like this."

Haldir did not gainsay her words. Rather he said, "I cannot undo the hurt that you felt last night, nor can I change the nature of who and what we are. However, it was my hope that we could speak upon my return, for there is something we should discuss, something that I feel you should know."

"That I should know?" Annalyn echoed and tried to stand tall. "I am here now. If you have something to say, by all means, say it."

"There is no time."

Her features hardened in spite of herself. "Then you should have come sooner."

"I wanted to. Ah, believe me I wanted to, but my thoughts were in disarray. I could not…" A heavy breath, and then, "What I wish to tell you… It is rather complicated, and not something I should hasten. It is best if we wait. Trust me on this."

But what he was asking was impossible. Unbeknownst to him, her decision was made. She was leaving, and would be long gone by the time he returned. Drowning in guilt, Annalyn made for one of the lounging couches, where she busied herself by gathering the books Ithriel had left there.

Haldir asked, "You will meet me, then? Upon my return?"

"Of course. Yes." The lie left the bitterest taste in her mouth. Thinking he would perceive her dishonesty, she turned away from him. Books in hand, Annalyn returned them to the bookcase, faking lightness when she said, "Your brother is waiting for you. You should go." It hurt to say it, to send him away knowing this was the end, but she had never been adept at concealing what she felt. Now was no different.

But Haldir did not move.

Even without looking, Annalyn knew that he had narrowed his eyes at her, that a questioning frown was now forming on his brow. She was standing on her tippy-toes, putting the last book on the topmost shelf, when Haldir said her name, suspicion lacing every syllable.

She froze this time.

He knew.

"You will be here when I return?" he prodded when she faced him. The way he stood there—the rigidity in his posture—made it seem like his feet had sprung roots, so strong and deep she doubted even the mighty Anduin could move him.

"You are leaving." It was not a question.

Annalyn hoped her silence would be answer enough. Her mind was made up. She couldn't remain in Caras Galadhon, not for another day, and certainly not for another fortnight. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

"You and I both know I cannot remain here."

Haldir blinked in confusion. "So your plan was what exactly? To slip away in hopes that no one would notice? To leave without so much as a word?"

When she made no reply, he looked at the ground and absorbed the blow. His jaw clenched, then he shook his head. "I do not wish for us to say goodbye in this fashion. Not now. Not like this."

"How then?" Annalyn countered miserably. "Given how we are both suffering, would it not be easier if I left now instead of later?" Met by a wall of silence, she blinked back tears and tried to reason with him. "If I was to break a limb, would we linger about, prolonging the agony? No. We would not. Rather, we would set the bone, swiftly and yes painfully, but only then could it begin to heal."

Though he understood her analogy, the comparison appeared to irk him. As she beseeched him with her eyes, his nostrils flared, and his mouth thinned in a line. "We are not discussing broken bones here."

"No," she agreed. "Only broken hearts."

As Haldir digested her words, Annalyn walked nearer to him, tilting her tear-stained face to meet his eyes, beautiful beneath his lashes but so full of pain. "Why prolong the inevitable, and make it harder for the both of us?" Hoping to drive her point home, she motioned to the city beyond the open archways. "You're an Elf. You belong here, amongst the trees, with your kin, your people. I do not." Haldir moved away from her even as she spoke. Agitated, he paced around the room until his feet brought him to the outdoor dining area, where he came to stand by one of the chairs.

As Annalyn emerged into the light of day, Haldir only stared outward. Given how proud he was, she knew that he would not plead for her to stay. It was not in him to do such a thing.

"I have made my decision. I am sorry." When he failed to say anything, she added, "You should know, I will never forget my time here. I will remember and think fondly of you, always."

His head tipped forward, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the back of the chair.

"We have saved each other several times over these past few months. Now I do so once again. You and I…" Her voice cracked a little. "It would be incredible and fervent and so very meaningful, but it would be folly. We both know this."

A long moment passed, then he righted himself, his voice low but direct when he said, "If indeed you have chosen, I suppose there is nothing left to say."

The finality of his words gouged a hole in her chest, and the selfish part of her wished he would have said more—words like, "I love you" or "I shall never forget you."

But she deserved no such sentiment. If he hadn't guessed her plans just now, Annalyn would have left without so much as a goodbye. He knew it just as much as she did.

Before she could find the words to fully close their story and say goodbye, Haldir shut the proverbial book himself. With shuttered features, he stalked toward the great spiral staircase, the end of his cloak billowing in his wake. For an instant, Annalyn was reminded of the way he had looked upon their first meeting—the cold Marchwarden of Lothlórien.

But Haldir wasn't being cold. He was hurting.

A lump clogged her throat, and she watched him go.

This was it. Haldir was leaving. Never again would she behold his proud face, or his elven eyes. Never would she hear his voice, nor feel his touch, or taste his kiss. The goodbye she had been dreading was now a thing of the past. The broken part of her should have been relieved— _it is over and done, now perhaps we both can heal_ —but her heart knew the bitter truth.

She would never get over him.

The enormity of what she had done slammed into her with such force, it knocked the wind out of her. Shaky legs took her nearer to the staircase, where she looked after his retreating form. As her vision swam with tears, Annalyn drew a shuddering breath, or it might have been a broken whimper.

Whether or not he heard, Haldir kept walking, his feet carrying him down the stairs until the curving path took him around the bole of the mallorn and out of her life.

 _Farewell_.

The depth of her sorrow was such that the words "sadness" and "distress" could not even begin to describe it. Grief, she decided. Grief was the closest thing to what she was feeling now. _But he still lives. He will live forever_. The latter provided a small measure of comfort, the only one to be found.

Salt touched upon her tongue, for tears were now seeping between her parted lips. Embarrassed, Annalyn swiped at her cheeks. Good thing the neighbouring footbridges were empty. If anyone were to see her like this…

Quite frankly, she should have sought refuge in the house by now, to hide in her room where none could stumble onto her and see her tears. But her feet would not move. In fact, they all but shouted at her to race after Haldir, to tell him that she had made a mistake, that she loved him and could not bear the thought of this being the end of them.

Swirling in indecision, Annalyn wavered and started after him only to halt and plop down onto one of the steps. Her hands linked between her knees, she bowed her head, and reasoned that she had done what was right. But then her heart chimed in. _If you do not go after him_ , _you will regret it forever_.

Was this true?

Haldir was everything she had ever wanted in a man, and more. He was steadfast and honourable, devoted to those he loved. And yet she had let him go. _No. I freed him_. And in so doing was saving him from a world of hurt.

Even so, the decision, that had seemed so right, suddenly started to feel wrong. Completely and utterly _wrong_.

Horrified, Annalyn beheld the empty stairs. _What have I done?_

Willing strength back into her trembling legs, she rose with the intention of catching up to him, only to freeze again. At first, she thought her eyes were cheating her, that her tears were distorting her sight. But no.

Haldir had turned around. He had turned around and was now climbing the curving stairs. Eyes locked onto hers, he walked with a definite purpose in his steps, with determination it seemed. Before she could fully comprehend what was occurring, her feet had begun to move, descending with a quickening pace.

When the two finally met, her arms flew around his neck, where she buried her face and wept, quietly and without shame. Pride be damned.

Haldir, for his part, maintained a firm hold on her, his fingers clutching her tunic as he spoke, his voice choked with emotion. "Our story does not end today." A vow it seemed, one that mirrored her most fervent wish.

And so they lingered, slaves to their foolish hearts.

"This is highly stupid," Annalyn whispered without letting go. "So incredibly unwise." Soberly, she wiped her cheeks one last time, and eased away just so. "All I will bring you is pain—"

His kiss silenced her words, a kiss that eclipsed all the others. Poignant and heartfelt, it tasted of anguish and new beginnings, of hope and of tears. As it deepened, Annalyn rose onto her toes, and linked her fingers at the nape of his neck.

"Pain I can endure," he breathed against her mouth. "But losing you like this… today? I cannot." A soft smacking of lips. "I will not." _Not without a fight_ , his hooded eyes seemed to imply. And so he kissed her, long and slow.

By now, desperate passion had given way to something more peaceful. Indeed, a calm was settling over Annalyn's heart, her soul even, a mending as it were. Was it the same for him?

When they finally broke apart, breathless and dizzy, her forehead came to rest against his. "I love you," she professed at last. "Completely and so very selfishly."

Eyes closed, Haldir exhaled in quiet relief, the slight curve of his mouth conveying all she yearned to hear.

He loved her, too.

His fingers skimmed the little dip behind her ear. At length, he pressed a final kiss to her lips. "I must go," he murmured in the narrow space between them. "Please do not flee ere I return." She might have laughed at his choice of words, only they were accurate. She would have fled. But now?

Granted, she had to leave. She had to break the news of Aldin's passing to Erna. But afterward… "It would seem we have much to discuss." An understatement if ever there was one.

"A fortnight," he warned again and drew back.

 _"_ I will be here _._ I will wait for your return. Then we shall speak. _"_

Holding to her hand, Haldir descended a step while she swayed on her feet. His eyes… there was such tenderness in them. A solemn sort of joy. When he finally let go of her fingers, leaving as quickly as he had come, Annalyn remained where she was. Doubtless she looked as stunned as she felt.

So this wasn't the end after all. Perhaps their story was only beginning. Could it be? _Are we really doing this?_ Her fingers rose to her lips, and she realised she was smiling, for joy had kindled in her heart, the likes of which she had not felt in a very long time, if ever.

As her mind worked to process all that had happened, Annalyn turned to climb the stairs. When lively chirping reached her ears, she stopped mid-step, and noted the little birds overhead. "You again."

This time, she did not mind their singing.


	46. Cerin Amroth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my readers and reviewers, thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

CHAPTER XLVI

CERIN AMROTH

_A charred and desolate landscape lay before her, with black and leafless trees spread here and there._

_Not knowing where she was, or why, Annalyn swept an anxious gaze around her, before taking a tentative step over the ash-covered ground. Though her footfalls were gentle, her boots kicked up dust as she walked, intensifying the smoky smell that hung upon the air._

_As she walked, leaving vanishing imprints in her wake, Annalyn couldn't help but feel for these poor trees. Hundreds of them, she tallied as a haunting wind sang around her, stirring the dust and churning the clouds overhead._

_At first, the scenery was unchanging, but then she came upon a blackened shield. Additional scrutiny yielded dozens of arrows, scattered all around, and a scimitar, crude and angular—an Orcish weapon, then. Looking ahead, she perceived a banner of some kind, the wooden shaft jutting at an angle, its pointed head embedded in the powdery earth. Hoping for answers, Annalyn approached the banner as it swayed hauntingly in the wind. While the standard itself was too dirty and tattered to be identified, she guessed that it had once been white or gold, maybe both._

_Puzzled, she turned. There were no bodies anywhere, but a battle had clearly taken place here. Now if only she could figure out where "here" was._

_Resuming her aimless journey, Annalyn soon noted a section of forest up ahead._

_How strange. The trees stood in a near perfect line, their leafy limbs seemingly untouched by fire, as if a great power had abruptly stopped the flames._

_The forest loomed closer with each of her steps, its colours muted by all the dust in the air. When Annalyn recognized the trees, dread coiled in the pit of her stomach._

Mallyrn.

_This was the Golden Wood, or what remained of it._

_But then where were the Elves? Where was Haldir?_

_Fearing the worst, Annalyn raced on ahead. She had just reached the treeline, and was scanning the forest in search of its guardians, when out of the corner of her eye, she perceived a lone figure in the distance to her left._

_Annalyn's eyes misted over, relief settling over her heart. For even from afar, she knew it was him._

_Haldir stood on the very edge of the woods, his crimson cloak snapping in the wind. As Annalyn ventured forth, keeping close to the treeline, he beheld the devastation with a blank expression on his noble face. Alas, before she could net his attention, Haldir turned away from the lifeless landscape, and was promptly swallowed by the shadowy woods._ Wait _, she wanted to call out, but could not find her voice._

_With no other option, she followed and soon found him again, catching a brief glimpse as he walked between the trees. But no matter how fast she ran, the gap between them remained. How could that be?_

_Onward he walked, and onward she ran, endlessly it seemed. Until, at the last, Haldir reached what looked to be a wide clearing. When Annalyn finally emerged into the open, she noted the flowers that grew upon the windswept grass, some white, some gold. She had never seen their like before. In the midst of all these was a mound, over which stood two circles of trees, one inside the other. The outer trees had white bark, whereas the inner circle was formed by_ mallyrn. _In the very center of the circle grew another mallorn, with a white flet of some kind._

_It should have been a fair sight, and in many ways it was, but a dreariness lay over everything._

_With a growing sense of foreboding, Annalyn looked away from the mound, and tried yelling out for Haldir, but again there was no sound, as if the air itself was swallowing her voice. What manner of devilry was this?_

_Haldir had already passed the mound, and was continuing onward when the impossible happened. Without warning, the scenery dissolved before her very eyes. A great rushing sound envelopped her, and a strange pressure filled her ears. Suddenly, everything was moving, hues of grey and green passing in a blur, as if some unseen force was carrying her at great speed._

_The colours stilled, then the world took shape. It was night. Annalyn was on a bridge somewhere. Before her was a gate set amidst a great wall of green. She knew this place. This was the entrance to the city._

_Caras Galadhon._

_For some strange reason, the lamps that adorned the gate had not been kindled this night, and the doors creaked and thudded in the wind. Annalyn's throat bobbed, and her feet moved toward the narrow opening. Passing beneath the arch, she looked up and out, only to be met by darkness, forlorn and devastating._

_A bolt of lightning pierced the heavens, illuminating the once great city. Deserted now. Its bridges and dwellings groaned as the treetops swayed in the howling wind._

_At a loss, Annalyn surveyed her surroundings with sheer disbelief._

What's happened here? Where is everyone?

_"_ _Annalyn?"_

_Guided by his voice, her eyes finally found him._

_Haldir stood a short distance away, his brows creased in confusion as he turned to face her._

_Before Annalyn could say anything, the world dissolved once more, turning to absolute blackness before brightening again_.

She was blinking, staring at a white ceiling.

Unsettled, Annalyn sat up at once and clutched her blanket over her racing heart. Eyeing the room, she recognized the dresser, the four poster bed with its delicate carvings. She was in Ithriel's home, in Rúmil's old room. A glance at the sunlit curtains revealed it was morning.

 _What a strange dream_. Disquieted and wide awake, Annalyn fell back against the pillow. _All this talk of war must be getting to me_.

Indeed, it was ever present these days. Last night, during the evening meal, Annalyn had listened in on a conversation between Ithriel, Bestedir, and some of the other guests. Despite losing a few threads here and there, she had followed the discussion well enough to gather that the Elves were troubled, and that many were bracing for the unknowns ahead.

Doing the same, Annalyn rose to face the day, yet her thoughts kept circling back to Haldir. _How are you faring out there?_ As she made her bed, taking care to smooth the creases from the sheets, she had to remind herself that he knew what he was doing. Haldir had been a Marchwarden for over a millenium, a soldier for nearly three. _He can handle himself_.

Still, she worried for him, each and every day he was out there, simply couldn't help it. With ten days between now and his return, Annalyn opened the curtains, and wondered what she might do until then.

Like most other mornings, Caras Galadhon was bathed in beautiful golden light, its stairs and footbridges dotted by serene-looking Elves, one strolling here, one strolling there.

The view was comforting, the air warm as it ruffled her nightdress and kissed her bare arms. At length, like it often did these days, her gaze lowered to the mallorn's main staircase, where she and Haldir had finally thrown caution to the wind, kissing ardently before he had left for the fences.

To think, one moment she had been dead-set on leaving, convinced it was the right choice, and the next she had been in his arms, no longer able to let go.

 _Are we mad?_ _We must be_.

Indeed, the wisest course would have been to part ways, to end this madness once and for all, but each seemed incapable of doing so.

" _All I will bring you is pain_ ," she had said to him then, only to be silenced by the most fervent of kisses.

" _Pain I can endure_ ," Haldir had breathed against her mouth. " _But losing you like this… today? I cannot. I will not_."

Like moths to a flame…

A part of her was insanely happy, butterflies whirling in her stomach even now, yet a sobering question remained. _If we do this, if we explore that which exists between us, how long before our differences catch up to us? How long before we burn?_

"Alright Annalyn," she said to herself. "Enough with the idleness." _You cannot stand here all day_.

Once she was dressed, Annalyn exited the room and found that Ithriel had already left the house. Thinking she must have gone to see the soldier under her care, Annalyn grabbed a small breadroll from the dining table, and bit into it as he feet ferried her outside.

With her sword and waterskin at her hip, she descended the spiral staircase, and was nearing the terrace when she noted an elf-woman she had never seen before. Bearing weapons, she was clad like a sentinel of the wood. Tall, even by Elvish standards, this elleth had waist-length hair, sable in colour, which was gathered in typical warrior braids. At present, she was eyeing a bowl of fruit that had been laid on the long table outside. Leaning forth, she extended a slender arm, and promptly skewered an apple with an elegant but lethal looking knife.

Perhaps she served on the Northern Fences with Haldir. Or maybe she was one of Erynion's soldiers. When Annalyn strode by, the Elf looked sidelong at her, but instead of issuing a greeting, her features remained neutral. All she gave was a small, almost imperceptible nod. As Annalyn returned the wordless acknowledgement and walked on, it felt like the Elf was following her with her eyes.

" _Ae!_ Annalyn!" Glirwen's cheerful greeting echoed from the nearby kitchens, where the baker was kneading a cabbage-sized ball of dough. Her hands were covered in flour, her brown hair loosely tied back.

" _Galu!_ " Annalyn replied and felt reasonably certain the word meant "blessings", or something of the sort. Feeling alive and spirited, she continued past the kitchens, descending the weathered steps that hugged the side of the hill. At the bottom, Annalyn did not take to the path, but rounded the slope until she came to a grassy area below the mallorn, one that was hidden from the terrace. There, she drew out her sword and beheld the blade as it caught the light. "Good morning, old friend."

Annalyn had been training for some time and had just parried to the right when a voice broke through her concentration. "Watch your wrists."

Startled, Annalyn whirled around, then looked up.

It was the Elf from the terrace, the soldier. Presently, she was perched high up on a root that protruded from the hillside. Her feet were dangling in the air, her boots crossed at the ankles. Taking a bite of her apple, the Elf chewed and swallowed, then raised her closed fist and turned it over. "When you parry, twist your hands a bit more."

Though her pride bristled at this stranger's meddling, Annalyn thinned her lips and readied her stance. For stranger or no, this Elf was obviously of the Galadhrim. And if Haldir's skills were anything to go by, the Galadhrim _could_ fight.

_Why spit on freely-given advice?_

Her sword in a two-handed grip, Annalyn flexed her jaw. As the Elf watched, she parried right, taking care to turn her wrists, then lunged forward with a downward thrust.

"Better?" she challenged with a raised brow.

The Elf considered her for a moment, her cool features revealing little. "Better."

Before Annalyn could right herself, the tall Elf had gained her feet, and was springing easily down the hill. When the two were face to face, a smirk found its way to the stranger's mouth. "You must be Haldir's friend." By the twinkle in her narrowing eyes, and the way she had emphasized the word "friend", Annalyn could tell that this Elf suspected they were more than that.

" _Mae govannen_." The Elf bowed. _"_ Ninael is my name." Like Haldir, she spoke the common tongue with ease. Confident she seemed, and proud. But her demeanour seemed more fiery than Haldir's.

Annalyn introduced herself in turn, then watched as Ninael brought the apple near to her lips. "I may have corrected your form," the Elf said, "but overall you seem to fight well. It shall make my task that much easier, should we encounter Orcs along the way."

"Along the way?"

"Oh, I thought Haldir would have mentioned it. I received a missive from him the other day. He spoke of your need to return to the Westfold and has asked that I ward you during your travels."

"He has spoken of it," Annalyn allowed grudgingly, then sheathed her sword. "You should know that I resisted the idea. I can fend for myself."

Ninael did not appear to take offense. If anything, there was a measure of respect on her features. "In that case, I shall treat you not as a ward, but rather as a companion. How does that sound?"

"I could live with that."

"Well then, I shall leave you to your exercises. I have been on the marches for nigh on a month. My bath awaits." With that, Ninael bit into her apple, winked, and strode away.

Readying her stance once more, Annalyn went to resume her exercises, but her gaze trailed after the Elf. A most interesting elleth, she thought, very different from Ithriel and Glirwen.

It was nearing midday when Annalyn concluded her training. But while she felt the burn in her shoulders, a restless energy remained in her legs. She needed to move, to walk or run. Her eyes trained southward, she thought it would be a perfect time to see Cobalt. After a quick detour to the kitchens, Annalyn was on her way to the gates, with an apple in one hand, and a fistful of almonds in the other. Eating them one by one, she was walking along a narrow stream when she heard someone call her name.

"Out for a stroll, I see."

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Annalyn halted and looked up to see who had spoken.

"Over here." Following the voice, she saw that Taerion was walking along a footbridge, clad in a light blue tunic and grey leggings, with a book clasped under his arm.

"I was going to find the stables," she said at last. "I have not seen Cobalt, my horse, since arriving here. I reckon it is high time I do so."

"A journey beyond the city! What a splendid idea. Are you in need of a guide?"

"A guide, no." A touch of disappointment crossed Taerion's face, but he perked up at once when Annalyn said, "However the company of a friend would be most welcome."

Moments later, the young Elf joined her on the green avenues, and together they walked southward.

"I meant no disrespect earlier," Annalyn said after a time. "The truth is, I _believe_ I know where the stables are, but I do not know for certain. Only I thought it would be nice to explore and discover on my own."

"That I can understand. You like doing things for yourself." Taerion nodded. "Very well, then, I shall not say a word. Unless, of course, you lead us far astray. I would rather remain in the Golden Wood, if you do not mind."

His teasing made her laugh. "Agreed."

When the gates finally came into view, Annalyn couldn't help but marvel at the accuracy of her memory. For though she had once slept near here, rarely had she passed before these gates. She had never taken the time to examine them at length. And yet the lamps, the sturdy doors, even the encircling wall of green… they were exactly as she had seen them in her dream, down to the last detail. Except the gate was closed now, and a bright sun shone on the other side.

Annalyn and Taerion were almost at the doors when—to her surprise—they opened without a sound, seemingly on their own.

Startled, Annalyn looked to see who had opened them, but saw no one.

Taerion laughed. "You need not be alarmed. There are hidden sentries here. Come."

And so they passed beneath the arch, then over a bridge. The last time Annalyn had done so, she had been lying helpless on a litter. Now at least she was on her feet.

Once over the sparkling ribbon of water, the two found themselves on a cobbled road that appeared to circle the city. But which way to go? As Taerion waited to see which direction she would choose, Annalyn scanned the horizon, until she descried what looked to be a field of some kind. Just west of here. Perhaps the stables were that way.

Turning right, she waited to see if Taerion would correct her. When he said nothing, matching her stride as he hooked his hands behind his back, Annalyn assumed she had chosen correctly.

They kept to the stone road for a short time, but as they took to the grass, nearer to the field, Annalyn caught a whiff of something familiar. "Now I know I am on the right path." Laughing, she glanced at Taerion. "It seems horses smell like horses, even in fair Lothlórien."

Being from the Riddermark, Annalyn had been around the gentle creatures her whole life. Back on the Westfold, not only were horses part of the landscape, their upkeep and training were woven in the fabric of everyday life. Horsemasters her people were called, and rightly so.

When the stables finally came into view—a beautiful wooden structure before a verdant field—Annalyn felt a peace come over her. At present, thirty or so horses were grazing in the meadow. Beautiful steeds, all running free under the stablehands' watchful but caring eyes. Comical as it might seem, the familiarity of the sights, smells, and sounds made it feel like a homecoming of sorts.

"Which one is yours?" Taerion asked as her smile broadened into a full grin.

"That one." She pointed and went to meet her horse. "Cobalt! Ah, but I have missed you," Annalyn said when she finally reached him. Stroking his muzzle, she leaned her head against his, then drew back to look him over. "Your coat is glossy, and your hooves are clean. You look well, my friend!"

Cobalt blew a gentle breath from his nostrils.

When one of the stablehands came over to greet them, Taerion translated for Annalyn. "He says you have a fine mount, and that Cobalt has been happy here."

"My heart rejoices at hearing it," she said to the stablehand. "This horse means the world to me. I thank you for taking such good care of him."

Taerion translated again, and the Elf smiled. As the stablehand inclined his head and strode away to watch over the other horses, Annalyn looked to Cobalt again, but her words were for her companion. "Do you ride, Taerion?"

"On occasion," he answered. "Though it is long since I have done so. Why? Do you fancy an outing?"

"More like itching for one. What say you, Cobalt? Do you feel like going for a run?"

It was a glorious day for a ride. Once Annalyn had saddled her mount—Taerion, it seemed, preferred to ride without a saddle—the two rode around the field a few times before halting on the very edge of it. As they stared out at the stone road, their horses stamping calmly beneath them, Taerion looked sidelong at her. "Where to, young one?"

A snort of laughter echoed before she could stop herself. "Did you just call me 'young one'?"

Taerion raised a brow, much like a certain Marchwarden, but unlike Haldir there was a youthful innocence to his face. "Being the youngest in a city of immortal Elves, I seldom have the opportunity to use that particular expression. So if you would indulge me, young one, just this once, I would be most grateful."

"You may call me so if you wish. It is a nice change, if I am honest." With lingering amusement, Annalyn recalled a gathering late last year, and how she had been called the exact opposite. Launching into the tale, she explained that the mead hall had been filled to overflowing that night. "I was standing off to the side, watching the festivities, when I overheard a woman, a short distance behind me. While she spoke in whispers, the word 'spinster' carried clearly to my ears. Turning, I saw that she and her friend were staring at me, mockingly it seemed."

Taerion looked genuinely appalled. "How discourteous!"

Annalyn shrugged, but her smile was undimmed. "I did not care for the name, but I refused to let it get to me. Besides, she later tripped on her own feet, and went sprawling to the ground in the middle of the crowd, a few paces from where I was sitting. Seeing as she was unhurt, save for her pride, I did not bother to hide my amusement. I might even have laughed out loud."

"Sweet vengeance for you, and a just punishment for her. Good!"

Recalling his earlier query, Annalyn pondered the road again. "How about we head north?"

"North it is."

And so they set off, first following the road, then the sunlit meadows that lined the inner edge of the surrounding woods. As she nudged her horse into a light trot, Annalyn felt a growing sense of exhiliration. How she had missed this. The freedom of open spaces. The wind on her face and in her hair.

In the end, they rode for the better part of the afternoon, but always kept within sight of the city. When at last they reached what she thought was the Silverlode, the two stopped to let their horses drink. There, Taerion retrieved his book from his saddle pack and went to sit, cross-legged, in the shade of a birch tree.

Intrigued, Annalyn watched him from the water's edge. From the pocket of his tunic, he retrieved what looked to be a handkerchief. Inside was a small lump of… coal?

"What do you have there?" she asked and went over to investigate.

"You shall see."

Finding a spot beside him, Annalyn watched as he proceeded to draw faint, sweeping lines over a blank page. At first, she couldn't decipher the image, but soon it started to take form.

A horse. And not just any horse. "Is that Cobalt?"

In lieu of answering, Taerion merely smiled and kept on drawing, his elven eyes flickering to Cobalt every now and again.

"Remarkable," Annalyn breathed. "That looks exactly like him."

With a graceful hand, Taerion added some shading, and a few more details here and there. At length, he set the stick of coal aside, and pondered his work with a critical eye. "There. I believe it is finished."

Reaching into his boot, he unsheathed a small knife, which he then used to slice the inner edge of the page. The drawing now in hand, he held it out for her to take. "For you."

"Me?" Touched by the gesture, Annalyn admired the image for several moments. "Your work is truly masterful. I shall treasure this, thank you."

"The pleasure is mine."

"Are there other drawings in that book of yours?"

"A few," he replied and handed it over.

From birds, to animals, and trees, it seemed there was nothing he couldn't draw. "That is the Lord and the Lady's dwelling!" She beamed and perused ahead. "And the terrace with the kitchens. These are exquisite." Impressed, she turned yet another page, only to blink in puzzlement.

_Wait, no… Is it?_

Before her was a mound with two concentric rings of trees, at the center of which grew a single mallorn with a large flet.

 _I know this place_. But how could that be? She had only seen it in a dream. "Taerion, where is this?"

"It is called Cerin Amroth." As Taerion went on, explaining that long ago, a king had dwelt on the high flet, Annalyn remembered that Haldir had once mentionned such a place. Now his words came back to her. " _The light was fair on the mound where the king's high house had been built_ … _Thus I stood before Amroth and all those assembled and, giving my answer, assumed the mantle of Marchwarden of the North_."

But had he mentioned the circling trees? The central mallorn with its white flet? Annalyn didn't think so.

"If you wish to see it, the mound is not far from the gates. I can guide you there upon our return."

Closing the book, Annalyn sought to hide her confusion and accepted his offer. An hour later, they were there.

"Is something the matter?" Taerion asked as he drew rein beside her. "You look like one who has seen a ghost."

 _Not a ghost_ , she thought, _but close enough_. The trees, the flet, even the flowers… They were eerily similar, if not identical, to her dream. It made no sense, unless she had been here before, when the Elves had borne her across the forest and into the city. Annalyn had been so delirious at the time, perhaps she had forgotten and was only remembering now.

 _That must be it_.

"Nothing's the matter," she lied and challenged Taerion to a race to the stables.

* * *

But the enigma of Cerin Amroth was not so easily forgotten. By the time evening came around, it troubled her still. So much so that Ithriel took note of it as the two were returning home from their evening meal. "You have been rather quiet tonight. Something weighs on your mind."

"Have I?" Annalyn absently rubbed her arms and snapped out of her musings. "I suppose I have been preoccupied. It was a peculiar day, and now a question gnaws at me."

"By all means, give voice to it." Ithriel regarded her curiously as they crossed the threshold.

Ambling into the lamplit home, Annalyn made for one of the lounging couches, while the healer fetched two glasses and a bottle of miruvor, which she then set on the low table before taking a seat on the other couch, opposite her friend.

As drinks were poured, Annalyn expressed her thanks, and began, "When I was first brought here, did you and the litter-bearers carry me through Cerin Amroth?"

"Cerin Amroth? No. Why do you ask?"

"Are you certain?"

Ithriel laughed mid-sip. "Quite." But then, with narrowing eyes, she lowered her glass to her lap and waited to hear more.

Annalyn sighed. "How can I put this? It is so strange." Needing to steady her nerves, she downed some of her miruvor, then told Ithriel about her ride around the city, about Taerion's drawing, and the moment she had seen Cerin Amroth with her own eyes.

"You might think this is mad, that _I_ am mad, but the place was known to me. I swear it was as if I had once been there. But now you say that we never passed in that meadow. But I have seen it. I know I did."

Ithriel appeared to weigh the enigma, pursing her lips before asking, "May I venture a guess?"

"By all means."

"You say you have seen it. Is it possible you beheld it in your dreams?"

"How did you know?"

Having set her drink on the table, Ithriel considered her for a long moment, thoughfully it seemed. "I suppose it makes sense. Such a thing is not unheard of among the Elves."

"I fear you lost me."

"In your dream… You were not alone, were you?"

Her mouth worked. "Well, no. Haldir was there, but what does—"

"Search no further, my friend," Ithriel said, and spread her elegant hands. "For there lies the answer."

"The answer. With Haldir?" she echoed, then stammered. "I am sorry, would you do me a kindness and elaborate? Because what I _think_ I am hearing is…" She couldn't even put it into words. It was absurd! "What are you saying, Ithriel?"

"Namely that the dream was not entirely yours."

As Annalyn grappled with the information, the healer explained, "My guess would be that Haldir took a rest while you were sleeping, and what you saw were his dreams. Such bonds are not unusual, especially between those who share deep bonds of kinship or love."

As Annalyn struggled to absorb these words, a stray memory surfaced—that of starlit mountains and a quiet conversation on horseback. " _Sanwe-latya_ ," she remembered aloud, and Ithriel nodded.

"Haldir explained it to me once." The concept known as thought-opening. Annalyn went on. "Only I never realised it could manifest in dreams." Then something occurred to her. "Oh, Ithriel, do you think he knows?"

"He might."

Given how guarded he was, Annalyn wondered how he might feel about her witnessing his dreams.

"You seem troubled," Ithriel stated gently.

"Taken aback more like. Shared dreams…" Huffing a faint laugh, Annalyn abandonned her drink. "Please say nothing of this to anyone. He would hate it."

"My lips are sealed. I give you my word."

Thinking their discussion was at an end, Annalyn was about to bid Ithriel good night. But her friend was regarding her with keen interest, an impish smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"What?"

"Just a small matter that we have yet to speak of."

A blush crept onto Annalyn's cheeks. Somehow, she knew what Ithriel was going to say.

"I see the change in you. Unlike a few days ago, there is hope and joy in your eyes. I am happy for you."

"So you know, then."

"It is not hard to guess. You have been daydreaming for days."

"Have I?" Annalyn allowed a tiny, albeit bashful smile. Oh, who was she kidding? Of course, Ithriel would have noticed. Annalyn had been on a cloud since the other day, since that bone-melting kiss on that staircase. Relenting, she dropped all pretense and felt herself relax.

She was in love with Haldir. Deeply and madly in love with him.

"I suppose there is little point in denying it. I have been rather joyful of late. Gracious, it feels so incredibly surreal at times, dreamlike. Even now, I do not know what we were thinking. It was all so sudden. There was no time to think, let alone discuss it. One moment, I thought our story had reached its end. But all of that changed in an instant. And then he had to leave." Her mood turned pensive. "Do you think we are being foolish? Is it folly to pursue this?"

"Does your heart not hold the answer?"

Annalyn chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "I seek your counsel, yet you answer with riddles. I should have known."

Ithriel beheld her with amusement. But then the expression faded. Kindly, she said, "Such choices are never easy, and seldom have our kindreds joined in such a way. This choice, in the end, belongs to you and Haldir, and no other. However, if it is wisdom that you seek, it is my belief that one should always look within. For the heart is wise, and will not lead you astray."

Annalyn weighed her friend's words, and mulled them over long into the night. _It is true? Am I sharing dreams with him?_ Lying alone in bed, her hand tracing idle patterns on her moonlit pillow, she recalled a recent and rather heated dream, where Haldir had gathered her into his arms, pressing his mouth to hers as he had carried her up to his bed.

" _I thought of this, dreamed of this, so many times,_ " he had said to her the other night, as he had hovered over her, breathing hotly against her abdomen. " _Having you in this very bed._ Ae..."

The dream... _Was it truly him?_ Annalyn felt those flutters again. Biting her lower lip, she recalled their conversation. The one they'd had late one night, just prior to her falling ill. " _The Elves call it_ sanwe-latya," he had said to her, in reference to the ease with which he could converse with Cobalt and other animals. " _In the common tongue, it means 'thought-opening'_."

"Could it be?" she now whispered to herself. "Have our minds become linked somehow?"

Not knowing how else to explain all this, Annalyn circled back to her latest dream—Haldir's dream. A nightmare actually. The decimated forest. The abandonned city. So bleak and disquieting, much like her own dreams of late.

But what about tonight? If an invisible bridge had indeed formed between her and Haldir, would their minds interlock again? Since the hours of darkness were a time of vigilance on the fences, it seemed doubtful that Haldir would sleep while the stars were out. Perhaps in the morning, then.

Baffled but very much intrigued, Annalyn closed her eyes in hopes that sleep would provide the answer. But her slumber granted no such boon. After a restful but seemingly dreamless night, Annalyn awoke to another idyllic day in Caras Galadhon—though by the glistening leaves outside, it seemed a fine misty rain had fallen during the early morning hours.

After breaking her fast with Ithriel, she promised to meet her later that day, to resume her language lessons and share a meal. Thus it was that she made her way to the green avenues beneath the mallorn, where she drew out her sword and started training. She had barely started when, much to her surprise, Ninael dropped in on her practice once again. Unlike the previous day, however, the soldier had come bearing swords. Training swords to be exact.

"It is a glorious day for sparring, is it not?" Ninael said, and tossed a wooden sword her way.

Amused, Annalyn caught the practice weapon and bit back a laugh. "You have only just returned from the fences, and now you wish to train?"

"The Enemy is not resting. Why should I? Besides, even in times of peace, it is my wont to train once I awake. It invigorates me."

"A warrior through and through, then."

Ninael grinned at that. Sable hair haloed by the sun, the Elf swung her practice sword a few times, the motions as smooth as water. Instead of Galadhrim grey, she had opted for green and gold today, the sectionned hem of her knee-length tunic swaying as her long legs carried her across the grassy space. "Our departure is fast approaching. Have you gathered your supplies?"

"Most of them. Haldir is seeing to the rest. As for my horse, the stablehands have arranged for new shoes. All should be in readiness soon."

"I have seen him. He is a fine mount. Have you had him long?"

"Nigh on twelve years. My mother and I trained him together, or at least we had begun to before she…" Annalyn stopped herself. She hadn't meant to speak of her loss. But since it was already too late, her chin dipped downward. Softly, she admitted, "Before she died."

"I am sorry for your loss."

Now Annalyn shrugged. "Cobalt was not fully trained when it happened. He was skittish and wary. Luckily my mother had taught me enough. In time, he grew to trust me. He is a good horse. I am fortunate to have him."

Warmth reached the soldier's eyes. "He is your companion, then."

"He is a friend."

"Well, I look forward to riding alongside the both of you. Ready?" Ninael asked and assumed a battle stance.

Annalyn nodded, and found she rather liked this Elf. "Let us do this."

And so began the first of her daily training sessions with Ninael. Tireless and incredibly quick, the soldier never made it easy for her. It was energizing, and she learned much. However, being no Elf, Annalyn was not immune to fatigue. By the fourth day, her body ached from head to toe.

Having just returned from a full morning of training, with a sore shoulder and a lingering stitch in her side, Annalyn went in search of the soothing salve she kept in her dresser, but opening it, saw that she had run out. Tilting her mouth, she stoppered the jar once more, then left her room in search of Ithriel.

After stealing a glance toward the master bedroom, she believed her to be downstairs, but as Annalyn crossed the upper landing, she noted that a door had been left open. A door that was usually kept shut. Curious, she neared the threshold. "Ithriel? I was wondering if you had…" But Annalyn slowed to a stop, her hand falling away from her aching shoulder as she beheld her friend with interest.

Presently, Ithriel was sitting on the floor, her yellow gown spread about her legs. Her hair and profile were lined by a beam of sunlight that was streaming through a high window. Upon noting Annalyn's presence, the healer looked up, startled, and laughed as she replaced an item in the open trunk by her knees. "Annalyn! My mind must have been leagues away. I did not see you there."

Intrigued, Annalyn entered what was clearly a storage space. Trunks of various sizes were stacked along the walls, and a tall cupboard stood next to a smaller one on the right side of the room.

"Is there aught that you need?" Ithriel asked.

Her aching muscles all but forgotten, Annalyn answered that it was nothing, that it could wait. "What's all this?"

Ithriel folded what appeared to be a tunic of some kind. "Memories mostly. I was rummaging in here, in search of something, when these mementoes ferried me to bygone days. There are so many treasures hidden away in here, some I had nearly forgotten." Her smile brightened and she waved her in. "Well do not stand by the door. You may join me. "

At her friend's invitation, Annalyn ventured into the room, her gaze sweeping all around as she sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the trunk. Unlike the openness of rest of the house, the space was crammed, nearly filled to the brim. That being said, the air was neither closed nor musty in here. If anything, it smelled of mallorn leaves, courtesy of the breeze that was now flowing through the open window above. "Is this all yours?"

"Goodness no, though some of it is. The rest is an amalgamation of garments and heirlooms, some of it dating back to the Second Age. Most of it belonged to Orophin's mother and father. The rest belonged to my kin."

"And those?" Annalyn inquired tentatively, and tipped her head toward the open trunk between them.

A look of fondness crossed the healer's face. "These belong to me. Gifts from my mother err she departed over the sea."

"To Aman," Annalyn assumed.

Ithriel regarded her curiously. "Haldir has told you of it?"

"He touched upon it briefly," she allowed, recalling the night the two of them had sat on the edge of his _talan_ , watching the Lady Galadriel and her maidens stroll along a footbridge. "But truthfully, I do not know much of it, except that it lies somewhere in the west. Surely it is a perilous journey, and quite far. Why did your mother choose to leave?"

Perhaps she was being overly inquisitive, but it struck her as rather curious. Caras Galadhon was a haven of peace. Why leave it? And why leave Ithriel?

Before her friend could answer, a memory surfaced—the statues she had seen near to Lady Galadriel's dwelling, the ones carved in the likeness of King Amroth and his beloved Nimrodel. They, too, had chosen to leave, so that Nimrodel might live without fear, far from the evils that had awoken in Middle-earth. Sadly, neither she nor Amroth ever made it there.

"For immortal beings like us," Ithriel began. "Aman is a blessed place, one we are drawn to in many respects."

Sensing Annalyn's lingering questions, the healer opened her mouth to elaborate, but then hesitated, as if she was debating the wisdom in saying more. "Forgive me. I assumed you already knew."

"Knew what?"

Ithriel chewed her lip. "Perhaps Haldir would be better suited to explain. You should ask him upon his return."

"No, I am asking you."

One might have said she was being overly assertive, but Annalyn was not going to yield on this. Ithriel was being evasive. She was also ill at ease. Annalyn wanted to know why.

The healer lowered her eyes, her voice small when she said, "Very well. If you insist... We call it the Undying Lands for it is the home of the Valar, most of the Maiar, and a great number of my people."

"What about the race of Men?" Annalyn frowned. "Dwarves and other mortal folk?"

"Aman is now set beyond the sphere of the world. Mortals cannot reach it, nor should they."

"That seems rather unjust."

"It is not meant to be unjust. If anything, the ban is a kindness, for the land is hallowed by the Deathless who dwell therein. Mortals would not long endure it."

Try as she might, it was hard not to be insulted. "Are you saying we are unclean somehow?"

"You mistake my words," Ithriel replied. "The ban of the Valar was put into place not because you are unworthy, but for the reason that you bear the gift of mortality. Should you wander the unchanging grass of Valinor, you would wither and grow weary and die all the sooner. The ground of Aman is not meant for mortal feet."

Annalyn's mood softened somewhat, yet worrisome questions remained. Wordlessly, she looped her arms around her knees, and waited to hear more.

Ithriel went on. "It is said that long ago, the Valar sought the Elves who had awoken in Middle-earth in hopes that they would agree to dwell alongside them in Aman. Although there were some who chose to stay behind, a great number of my people made the journey in those days. Ah, indeed it is a long tale, much too long for one sitting. But this I will say: the world is not as it once was. Our glory has waxed and waned, and the Dominion of Men is near at hand."

"Why must Men have dominion over Middle-earth? Your people are strong and wise. Can we not live equally, side by side?"

But Ithriel was shaking her head. "Alas, with every passing year, the light in the world loses its strength, and the shadows grow darker. There are many who feel we have dwelt too long in Middle-earth. The time of the Elves is ending, Annalyn."

Stunned into silence, she scarcely felt the breeze as it swirled in from above, stirring the topmost pages in a nearby stack of parchments. "The time of the Elves is ending?" Her stomach dropped even as her mind struggled to follow.

Regretfully, Ithriel said, "It has been foretold. Elves are not meant to remain hither. Many of my people have already made the journey, my kin among them. For Aman is the land that ultimately calls to us, to my kind, though some say that it is the sea that calls."

Ithriel ran a finger along the edge of the wooden trunk. "Some describe it as a longing for the sea, but in my estimation it runs deeper than that. It is a yearning, intrinsic and profound, that lies within us whether we wish it or not. As the sea crashes over the shore, its song is borne upon the wind, travelling over forest and over mountains, beckoning us, always," Ithriel said. "For some, like myself, the song is but a whispering echo, faint enough to be ignored. But for others, the echo changes into clearer notes, a melodious call to home that cannot be silenced. Indeed, those who hear it are forever changed. I know this for I have seen it firsthand, in my kin."

While Ithriel spoke, Annalyn sat motionless, rendered speechless by the knot of alarm that was now tightening in her gut. _The sea calls to them… They are leaving…_

"My father heard it first, and then my mother. And as they hearkened to it, their wish was for me to follow."

Reaching into the trunk, Ithriel produced an embroidered handkerchief. As she stared at the delicate stitches, her mouth set in wistful remembrance, she resumed her quiet tale. "Torn I was, for I loved my kin. But the sea did not yet call to me. I loved Lothlórien, and I do to this day. But more than that, I loved and was betrothed to Orophin, whose heart remained hither, among the _mallyrn_."

Annalyn's distress must have been apparent, for Ithriel studied her for a long moment, guessing rightly when she said, "You are thinking of Haldir. You are sitting here, wondering if the sea calls to him."

"Does it?"

"If it has, he has said nothing of it. But it is my belief that it has not." Ithriel scrunched her eyes, her silver hair swaying with the subtle shake of her head when she decided, "No, my husband's brother remains wholly devoted to Lothlórien. His heart has not yet turned toward the sea. And when the day finally arrives, I believe he will fight it for as long as he is able."

It might have been selfish of her, but Annalyn was relieved to hear it. Quietly, she said, "He has never said anything. Why do you think that is?"

"I suspect that, like many amongst us, he is neither willing nor ready to contemplate such a future."

"But it is inevitable," Annalyn said, though she wished it wasn't true. "You are all leaving."

"In one hundred years, mayhap even a thousand. We do not know for certain, save that we are meant to leave someday, or else we will fade."

Fade? She blinked. _Why must Elves be so complicated?_ Though seemingly idyllic at first glance, their lives seemed laced with secret sorrows. "What does that mean? To fade."

"Much like mortals could not withstand it in Aman, Elves would not long survive in a darkening world. Over time, our bodies would weaken, and the light of our spirits would consume us from within." Ithriel leaned forward to lay a hand atop of hers. "If my words have troubled you, please know that it was not my intent. Take heart, my friend, for most of us are not leaving just yet, perhaps not for many lifetimes."

While it was hard to know how to feel, Annalyn chose to heed her friend's advice by shifting her focus to Ithriel's parents. "Is it long since your kin made the crossing? You must miss them terribly."

"Many long years have passed since they took to the seas, shortly after Orophin and I wed. There were many tears at our parting, but they were not bitter, for the day will come when I will see them again." Ithriel replaced the handkerchief in the trunk and was about to shut the lid when something netted her attention. Laughing through gathering tears, the healer retrieved what looked to be a doll. But unlike the pristine items that were stored here, it was worn and weathered. Made of cloth, it was modest yet charming, with an embroidered face—a happy expression.

Latching on to memories of her own, Annalyn smiled in spite of herself. "I had one similar to it when I was a child. My grandmother made it for me. Though if memory serves, it was much dirtier than this one. I kept it with me at all times, and carried it everywhere."

As Annalyn studied the doll, comparing it to the one she had owned, Ithriel explained that it had been a token of farewell, given to her by a small child, a girl she had met long ago. "You see when my kin departed, I made the journey alongside them, so as to prolong our time together. Yet I meant not to reach the Havens, for it was said that the sound of the gulls and the waves could stir our longing, and I did not wish it," she said. "So I went as far as Lebennin, in the south of Gondor, and it was there, while we tarried near the mouth of the Sirith river, that I saw them. A boy and a girl of similar bearing. Twins I later learned."

Annalyn's mouth curved in a smile.

"While it is difficult for an Elf to judge the age of mortals, I reckon they were around ten years of age," Ithriel said. "It was their wont to run and play by the river, and it was there that we first espied them through the trees. Now in the beginning, I did not reveal myself, and neither did my kindred, for we do not usually concern ourselves with mortals. But we saw them and smiled."

"One morning, I was gathering berries within view of the banks when the boy fell into the water. As he thrashed about, his mouth and nose unable to breach the surface, his sister went after him, alas neither of them could swim. Thus, I revealed myself at last and dove in. I will always remember their eyes as I hauled them to shore, wide-eyed and fearful despite my aid."

"When the boy had stopped spitting up water, I explained that I was a healer and that I meant them no harm. Being children, they soon forgot their fears." Ithriel sank further into her thoughts. "Seeing as they had never beheld an Elf, the two were greatly fascinated by my ears. 'Turn your head so I can see' they kept saying as their little hands reached and beckoned me to kneel."

Fondness suffused Ithriel's features. "Strange but beautiful they were, with curly brown hair and toothless smiles. I think I was as charmed as they were. But then, that very night, as we were readying to resume our journey, I heard her voice, the girl's. She was calling my name over and over again. Frightened she seemed, and frantic. My kin and I could hear her little feet as she ran and stumbled along the riverbank, nearly blind in the dark."

"I went to her at once. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she begged me to follow. Her brother was ill, she said. So I gathered her in my arms, and ran in the direction she told me to, until I found their humble dwelling."

"At first, the mother and father were greatly startled by my presence, but since they knew not what to do, they accepted my aid, and watched in quiet anguish as I tended to their son."

"In truth, a part of me felt responsible, for the boy had swallowed more water than I had reckoned. In a way, he was drowning after the fact. As he struggled to take breath, I toiled for much of the night, and for a time I feared I was losing him. But he had such a will to live. By daybreak, he was much improved. My kindred and I tarried in the area for a few days more, until I was certain the danger had passed. When at last it was time to leave, the girl begged me not to go." A hint of sorrow touched her features. "After I had explained that I could not remain, she raised her little chin and declared, 'then one day I shall pay you a visit. I shall travel the land, and I shall find your Elf castle.'" Ithriel laughed. "Those were her words to me."

She went on, "'What makes you think I live in a castle?' I said to her. Then she motioned for me to come closer and she whispered in my ear, 'Because you look like a princess. A healer princess.' Oh, how I laughed. Sweet child. It was then that she insisted I take her doll. A gift, she said."

Ithriel's shoulder rose then fell. "Of course, I never saw her again, nor her brother." By now, it was clear that those children were no longer of this world, that their mortal lives had been extinguished long ago. The healer heaved a sigh, her voice low when she said, "I never forgot them. I never will."

"Do you have any of your own?" Annalyn ventured after a pause, for she had never thought to ask. "Children I mean." For all she knew, they might be grown now, as ageless as Ithriel was.

"Nay." The healer smiled, yet it could not conceal her yearning. Having replaced the doll in the trunk, she closed the lid, gained her feet, and changed the subject. "You must be wondering what I am doing in here." Turning, she peered into another trunk.

"I admit, the question had crossed my mind. Are you searching for something in particular?"

"As a matter of fact, I was. Ah! Here they are!" Ithriel faced her once again, a look of triumph upon her face.

"Shoes," Annalyn stated in question.

"Lovely, are they not?"

"A far cry from my boots." Delicate and feminine, they were the kind one would wear with an elegant dress.

"It pleases me that you like them. Now you must try them on to see if they fit."

Before Annalyn could make sense of her friend's request, the shoes were in her hands. "You wish for me to try them on?"

But Ithriel had already whirled around and was searching for something else. At a loss, Annalyn stared at her friend as she approached one of the wooden cupboards in the corner. "Apparently not in this one," Ithriel whispered before opening the neighbouring wardrobe. "Ah yes! Triumphant at last!"

With that, the healer stepped to the right and swept her arm in an invitation for her to look inside.

Dresses. At least ten of them, ranging from deep blues and reds, to peach, yellow, and pale green. "Apparently, I own too many dresses. Because we were running out of space in our bedroom cupboard, Orophin begged me to move some of my things in here."

"I am not following," Annalyn said as apprehension coiled in her gut. _What do these dresses have to do with me?_

"We might have to alter the hem, but one of them should do nicely."

"Nicely for what? What are you up to, Ithriel?"

But the healer only smirked. Hand reaching for two of the dresses, she held them up in front of Annalyn. "I am not up to anything. However, I do wish to extend an invitation."

"An invitation? Where?"

"All in due time." Deciding against the red dress, she reached for another one, and studied it with a critical eye.

"Ithriel!"

But the healer only seemed amused. "You need not be anxious. I will tell you. But first…" She held up the dresses, her eyes alight when she said, "Silver white or blue?"


	47. That Which is Necessary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks go out to my readers and reviewers. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.

CHAPTER XLVII

THAT WHICH IS NECESSARY

"An artifact of ages past," Celeborn stated as he ambled toward the grotto, Haldir by his side. The artificial recess, situated half a day's march from the western border, had been hewn long ago by the Nandor, in a sheltered gorge through which ran the River Celebrant. Over millennia, vines and roots had encroached upon the wide entrance, partly covering the stone columns on either side.

Nodding to the Elves who had been tasked with restoring the space, Haldir and his Lord strode into the grotto to assess the work that was being done. At present, diffuse beams of sunlight pierced through a natural opening overhead, illuminating the newly-built fireclay furnace beneath. "The Nandor were skillful," Haldir said and made for the center of the space. "Alas, their old forge could not withstand the ravages of time. But as you can see, our craftsmen wasted no time, and the new one is nearing completion."

With measured footsteps, Celeborn rounded the newly-installed anvil and slack-tub, his silver robe swaying with every step. If he was honest, Haldir had been rather surprised when he had learned of Celeborn's visit, for it was long since the Lord of the Wood had journeyed to the borders, and longer still since he had done so on foot.

Now Celeborn said, "I was told that many a blades were forged in this grotto. Now its fires will have a new purpose." The elven Lord's voice echoed over the stone walls. Coming to a stop, he regarded the ancient forge with a rueful expression. "It grieves me to allow such malevolence so near to Caras Galadhon. But these are dark days, and we do what we must. Tell me, any word from your raiding party?"

"At last report, my soldiers had laid waste to a sizeable supply train. The Orcs, I am told, were carrying everything from food rations, to armour and weapons. My soldiers left none alive and are returning home as we speak."

"And these weapons?"

"It is as we thought. Crates of morgul blades. Morgul shafts by the thousands."

Celeborn catalogued the information before raising his chin. "Morgul weapons have no place in this world. And seeing as I will suffer no such item to pass within our city, here they shall be destroyed, by fire and hammer-stroke."

It was the only way.

"My Lord." A soldier was now entering the grotto. First bowing to Celeborn, the sentinel then looked to Haldir. "Orophin's party returns. They are crossing the valley as we speak, and should reach the forest by nightfall."

Heartened by these tidings, Haldir thanked then dismissed the sentinel.

Celeborn said, "It would seem all is well. Not that I ever doubted you." Reaching into the folds of his robe, he produced a small roll of parchment.

"And what might this be?" Haldir asked as he took it.

"The secondary reason for my visit," Celeborn stated with a subtle smile. "It is an invitation, one we hope you will not refuse."

Unrolling the parchment, Haldir recognized the elegant handwriting as being that of Galadriel. As he read the invitation, his Lord explained that he and his wife both felt that he should attend, along with Erynion. "Given the uncertainty ahead, your presence might lighten the hearts of those who have been despairing of late."

"Stated thusly, how can I refuse?" Haldir rolled up the parchment. "You have my word. If peace remains on our borders, I shall attend."

Now that they were in agreement, Celeborn made to exit the grotto, Haldir matching his leisurely stride. A nod to his personal guards and they gathered around him. "I must depart. I trust you will keep us apprised of any development that might arise?" Celeborn asked.

"I always do."

"Well then, may fortune be upon you, and the sun shine upon your path."

As Haldir bowed to his Lord, Celeborn departed, his Elf-wardens by his side.

With a last look toward the grotto, Haldir left the smiths and masons to their work, and took to the trees. In order to save some time, he used an organised network of flets to make his way north. Every so often, he would come across various patrols, nodding to them as he went. Some were keeping watch over the forest, while the rest had been tasked with cataloguing their supplies, ensuring that all was in readiness should the Orcs choose to invade.

Day was growing late when Haldir came within view of the injured mallorn—the one the Orcs had set fire to during an assault last autumn. Part of its skin was still blackened, and it had lost some of its lowermost leaves. But the tree was no longer weeping. Instead, it was now resting, gathering strength. Descending to the forest floor, Haldir stopped by the bole, and noted the small buds that had begun to form where its once shrivelled leaves had been.

Looking up, he laid a gentle hand against the tree. " _Ci vaer?_ " he asked softly, wanting to know how it was feeling.

A moment later, the tree's wordless answer washed over Haldir, like a whispering breeze laden with ancient resilience and no small amount of gratitude. _I am healing_ , it seemed to say.

Glad of it, Haldir smiled faintly at the tree. "Heal yourself promptly, my friend." And then he was on his way.

A violet dusk was falling by the time Haldir reached the wood's outer edges, where the party of twelve was now coming into view. Led by Orophin, the soldiers navigated the forest floor, carrying a total of six large crates among them. Scanning the group for Rúmil, Haldir noted he was at the back of the line, his palm upholding a crate just above his shoulder. Relieved to see his brothers unscathed, Haldir descended a ladder made of hithlain, and raised his palm in a halting gesture.

"Hold!" Orophin called to the others. They all came to a stop, and lowered their burdens with great care. Though no one spoke, most of the sentinels shuddered as they stepped away from the boxes. Haldir did not blame them, for even through the wood, none could miss the aura of evil that emanated from each crate.

"Nicely done," Haldir told them.

Orophin inclined his head in thanks. His tone, however, was unusually disapproving. "The ambush was a success. The Orcs scarcely knew what hit them." By the gaze he shot at Rúmil, Haldir could tell that there was more to the story, that Orophin was displeased. But since they had an audience, Haldir chose to withhold his questions for now. Instead, he ordered his soldiers to take a rest, but asked Orophin to stay.

As the soldiers began to disperse, Haldir whistled for their replacements. A few seconds later, the relief party was descending the trees. As the newly arrived sentinels approached the crates, a few of them actually recoiled before gathering their wits and proceeding as ordered.

"As you know, Morgul weapons are not to be trifled with," Haldir warned them as they made ready to leave. "Make haste but take heed while carrying them."

"Understood," the lead soldier said before calling to the others. "Move out!"

When the relief party was out of sight, Haldir looked to Orophin. Jaw flexed, the middle brother was staring hard at Rúmil, who was now ascending to the flets along with the rest of the wearied soldiers. Though he was facing away from them, there was no mistaking Rúmil's mood.

"I see you are both angry. Do I have to ask what happened?"

"He was reckless," Orophin answered at once. "More so than usual." Irate, he ground his teeth before relaying the entire story to Haldir, how Rúmil had charged on ahead of everyone, disregarding the order to wait. "You and I both know he can be impetuous, especially on the battlefield, but this was different. He is not himself of late."

"Nay," he agreed and could easily guess the reason. While Haldir had not spoken of his likely courtship with Annalyn, Rúmil could read him rather well. When the two of them had joined up at the gates to begin the long walk to the fences, the youngest brother had seen through Haldir's mask, noting his mood—joy and amazement, laced with a healthy dose of fear. Not only that but he had sniffed the air and arched a critical brow. " _Who knew you liked lavender?_ " Rúmil had stated while Orophin remained a little further away, saying goodbye to his wife.

Haldir had failed to realise, until then, that Annalyn's scent had transferred onto his clothing—no doubt when they had kissed on the staircase.

Rúmil had scoffed then, his mouth twisted in disappointment as he had walked on ahead of his brothers.

" _He is in quite a mood_ ," Orophin had said to Haldir after a time.

" _He is cross with me_." _So be it_ , he had thought. For be that as it may, Haldir had made no apologies for his choice, nor would he.

Now he was staring up at the flets, his lips thinning in mounting anger. _Enough of this_. "I will speak to him." Once Haldir had told Orophin to take some rest, he then climbed to the platform, where he found his youngest brother as he was swapping his blood-stained tunic for a fresh one.

Eyes trained on Rúmil, Haldir addressed the sentinels who were resting nearby. "Clear the flet." There was no need to tell them twice.

"I suppose you have come to chastise me." Rúmil's voice dripped with derision, his motions edged with frustration as he slid a fresh tunic over his head.

Unlike his older brothers, Rúmil had never been adept at masking his emotions. Right now, he wore his resentment on his sleeve, his bitterness laid out for anyone to see.

"You and I might be brothers, but out here I am your Marchwarden. I will tolerate no disrespect."

In lieu of replying, Rúmil grabbed his swordbelt. The buckle clinked as he fastened it.

"Orophin told me what happened, that you charged on ahead and disregarded his orders. Such recklessness has no place within our ranks."

"You wish to lecture me on recklessness?" He looked skyward and laughed. "Forgive me, but that seems rather rich coming from you."

Haldir's blood was so very near to boiling, it was an effort to remain silent as Rúmil went on, "I never thought I would say this, but as wise as you believe yourself to be, you are being highly stupid, dear brother. And for what? That woman will—"

" _Enough!_ " Haldir bellowed.

This rare outburst echoed out into the forest, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. In the aftermath, Rúmil blinked, while Haldir worked to gain mastery over his emotions. Tersely but quietly, he managed to say, "You are cross with me, very well. But that does not excuse your behaviour. You are a member of the Galadhrim, act like you are worthy of it."

The words hit their mark. Haldir saw it, felt it even.

Hands balled into fists, Rúmil regarded him with an icy gaze. "Fine." Two steps took him over to where he had placed his bow and quiver. Then he was walking away.

"Just where do you think you are going?"

A pause of confusion... and suspicion. "To watch over the valley."

"I think not."

Rúmil faced him fully. "What is that supposed to mean?"

A cool wind fanned their faces.

"You ignored a direct command today, and by so doing endangered not only your life, but that of your brethren. Such blatant disregard cannot go unpunished." Haldir squared his shoulders. "Report to the inner flets. Some of our sentinels are cataloguing our inventory. I am certain they will appreciate your aid."

It pained him to do such a thing, to send his brother away like this. But Rúmil had forced his hand.

Later that night, as he surveyed the starlit valley from one of the outermost flets, Haldir was joined by Orophin. As the two stood shoulder to shoulder, the ends of their longbows resting before their feet, a heaviness lay over them.

"It is a helpless feeling," Orophin began on a sigh, "standing in wait as the shadows lengthen all around us."

The valley was eerily still tonight, as were the jagged mountains beyond. The only movement was that of the clouds, scattered here and there before the stars.

"Lady Galadriel was right, you know," Orophin said after a time. "There is light yet in this world, and in the hearts of those who would fight for it. So when I stand out here, my thoughts mired in despair, do you know how I cope?"

Haldir merely glanced at his brother.

"I remember the joys we still have, the simple moments shared with those whom we love. Middle-earth has changed, and as a people we have grown weary, it is true. Yet love remains. And that, more than anything else, is what makes our immortal lives worth living."

Haldir gave a subdued smile. "You are waxing poetic tonight."

"Perhaps, but I mean every word." Orophin looked to the valley again. "Rúmil frets for you, and does not quite understand. But for my part, I am glad. Annalyn… She is good for you. Even if…" This last sentence went unfinished, but the rest was not hard to guess. _Even if she is mortal._

Orophin spoke again. "Ever since she came here, I have noted a change in you. A spark that I had not seen in many long years. A spark I doubted I would ever see again." Staring at the valley, he narrowed his eyes and nodded, as if to himself. "You are strong, Haldir. Stronger than anyone I know."

 _Strong enough to withstand such grief as would follow?_ Haldir almost said, but didn't. For Orophin was right about one thing. A change had come over him these past few months. And while his future with Annalyn was not set in stone, long-dorment joy had bloomed in his heart.

His thoughts carrying him back to that moment on the staircase, Haldir recalled the panic he had felt when it seemed their story had reached its end. Unable and unwilling to let her go without a fight, he had turned around, not knowing what he would do or what he might say.

But then, when he had seen her, when he had realised she had gone after him, too… A bright, if somewhat desperate hope had flared within him. For there she was, his chance at happiness—however fleeting—with nothing but love in her eyes. Could he truly let such a gift slip through his fingers? After all, his _fae_ had already chosen. _If I am doomed to grieve either way…_

Annalyn's smiling face came into his thoughts just then, and it warmed his immortal heart.

"Nothing has been decided. Not as yet," Haldir felt the need to clarify. For there was much to ponder, and much he needed to tell Annalyn.

"So you say," Orophin said.

Haldir did not have to look at his brother to know he was smiling.


	48. The Halls of Starlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my readers and reviewers, thank you!

**CHAPTER XLVIII**

**THE HALLS OF STARLIGHT**

"Your hands are fidgeting," Ithriel remarked as she and Annalyn walked in the gathering twilight. "You need not be anxious. You will have a magnificent time this night." She placed a hand on her friend's arm. "I promise."

But Annalyn could not help it. She was a bundle of nerves tonight, had been for the better part of the day. _Relax_ , she said to herself, dropping her arms and rolling her shoulders back. They felt so stiff. _It is a festival. Nothing more. Some mingling and feasting, a bit of dancing_. Annalyn blanched at the thought. _Gracious me… dancing_ … She had half a mind to turn around.

Of course, Annalyn could dance in the fashion of her people. But she was not in Rohan, heading to a noisy gathering in the mead-hall. Rather, she was to attend what the Elves called the Midwinter feast, a yearly celebration under stars, on this, the longest night of the year.

As her feet carried her up a staircase, toward a higher footbridge, Annalyn's throat bobbed. _How do Elves dance?_ she wondered. _Alone? In pairs?_ She had no idea. But given that Elves were gifted with natural grace of movement, seeing them dance would certainly be a sight to behold. _Perhaps that is what I shall do_. _Watch and admire._ _Yes_. She felt her shoulders relax a fraction, her heart calming in her chest.

"If you do not wish to go…" Ithriel's regarded her with mild disappointment, but her smile remained. "The choice is yours. Truly."

"No, I will go." Annalyn nodded to herself, and cemented her decision. She was no coward. "I wish to go. Only…" She sighed. "This is all new to me. These shoes." Her slender fingers grasped the sides of her dress, raising the skirt just enough to reveal the tops of her feet. "And this gown. Please do not mistake my meaning; they are lovely. Beyond lovely. They are exquisite, and there are no words to express how thankful I am." Her smile turned meek. "Simply I am not used to such finery. I am no Elf, nor am I a shieldmaiden of noble birth. I am a commoner of the Westfold. The finest dress I own is made of roughspun wool. A mere sac of grain by comparison."

It wasn't that Annalyn was bemoaning her wardrobe—if her clothing could be called such—nor was she ashamed of her modest means and roots. But the fact remained that her people were mostly peasants. Barring some exceptions, the clothing in Rohan was mostly unadorned. Simple garments made for long wear and practical use.

But this gown… This gown was so formal, so lovely, so _elvish_. Silver-white, it was fitted at the waist, with a floor-length skirt that was slightly longer in the back. The fabric was weightless, soft as it brushed against her bare legs. Raising her forearms, Annalyn admired the long diaphanous sleeves that flared past her elbows.

Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined wearing so fine a dress. During the fitting, when she had first beheld her reflection, Annalyn had found it a strange and startling sight, for the gown was incredibly feminine, hugging her figure in a way she was not accustomed to. But after turning this way and that, she had decided she liked the fit. It made her feel… beautiful? Womanly? Whatever the word, Annalyn had chewed her lip and smiled. Yet a trace of doubt had remained. " _Are you certain it is not too much?_ "

" _You look enchanting_ ," Ithriel had said before lowering her voice to a soft but conspiratorial whisper. " _It is a shame Haldir cannot be here to see it._ "

Annalyn had smiled at that, wistfully, but gratefully as well, for she and Ithriel had grown quite close these past few weeks. So much so that each now felt capable of confiding in the other, something Annalyn sorely needed at this time. " _I could say the same for your husband_ ," she had offered in turn. " _You must miss him terribly when he is gone_."

" _There are times when I do miss him,"_ Ithriel had allowed. _"Although for Elves, weeks and months pass like the swift waters of Nimrodel."_ The comparison was sobering, reminding her of just how different their lives were. Mortal and immortal. " _But when Orophin does leave, I hold him in my heart each and every day, and hope that no harm befalls him."_

Annalyn understood this—the wondering and worrying. It was the price of loving a soldier.

" _As for the feast_ , _I shall not be alone, and neither will you_." Ithriel's features had brightened. " _We shall go together as friends_."

And so they were.

Dusk was now slowly ceding to night, the stars emerging one by one in the moonless sky. All around, the lamps in the city were kindling in much the same fashion—one here, one there, until all was aglow in hues of silver, gold, and green.

As they strode down yet another footbridge, the two came to a fork in the path. Going to the right, they merged into a long line of Elves, all beautifully clad—in robes and tunics and gowns that seemed even finer than the ones they usually wore. Turning her head, Annalyn descried even more Elves on another footbridge nearby. They, too, were headed northeast, their silence and leisurely pace at variance with the excitement in their eyes.

For a brief moment, Annalyn envied them their serenity. But then, this wasn't their first Midwinter feast. They knew what to expect. Unlike her. "This place we are going, what do you call it again? The Halls of Night?"

"The Halls of Starlight," Ithriel corrected. With each graceful step, her sea-green gown winked and shimmered in the lamplight, for the fabric was bedecked with crystals, some no larger than a grain of sand. Her eyes atwinkle, Ithriel raised her chin and looked skyward. "Tonight, we shall rejoice under stars, with music and merriment, tales and sweet mead. A night of remembrance and one of thanks." Her sigh was one of gladness. "Out of all our celebrations, I think this is the one I favour most." She looked to Annalyn then. "I am happy you decided to accompany me."

The footbridge curved around a mallorn, and as they walked forth, Annalyn recognized the Lord and the Lady's dwelling. Lit from within, it shone like a jewel among jewels, spilling soft light onto the surrounding bridges and trees. Doubtless, the rulers would be present tonight, and a part of her was curious, for though she had met Lady Galadriel, Annalyn had never seen Lord Celeborn. Was he as beautiful as his wife? As regal? She had no idea but thought he must be.

Having reached the heart of Caras Galadhon, the two continued on, toward what looked to be an archway of some kind. Craning her neck, Annalyn tried to see, but the Elves were tall, and those walking ahead of her blocked the view.

The air was not as silent here. For the first time since arriving in this city, Annalyn discerned the faint sound of a gathering crowd, but since these were Elves, the voices were clear and fair, the echoing laughter even more so.

By the growing sound, and all the Elves who were filing toward the hall, it seemed that the entire populace was making for the festivities. _Not everyone_ , she had to amend, and thought of Haldir.

Like all who served on the marches, he could not partake in the festivities tonight. It was a shame, but at the same time, it was part of his responsibilities, the ones he carried willingly. The notion filled her with pride, and yet it saddened her, too. Haldir served so that his kindred might live in peace, enjoying nights such as this one.

With a wistful heart, Annalyn gazed northward, and sent her thoughts to him. _Take heed out there, and return to me_. Gracious, how she missed him. _Only two more days_. Two endless days until she saw him again. Indeed, with every passing day, it seemed she missed him more and more. At night, it was even worse.

 _How will it be,_ Annalyn wondered, not for the first time, _how will it be_ _when you finally return?_ Where would they go from here? By the kiss they had shared on that staircase, it was clear they both desired more. A lot more. But love between them would be so incredibly complicated, fraught with such difficulties it bordered on the impossible. And yet, it appeared they were both seriously considering… what? A courtship?

Her insides did a little flip just then, as if a thousand butterflies had taken to flight at once, and were now swirling in her belly, making her feel wonderful and scared and silly all at the same time.

Still, there was much to ponder and much to discuss. Only then would she and Haldir decide.

Annalyn was now nearing the archway. White and graceful, it stood as if in welcome, at the end of the footbridge, in a gap between the boughs of two neighbouring trees. When she cleared the arch, the sight that greeted her was so incredibly breathtaking, she had to stop for a moment and take it all in.

It was a _talan_ of sorts, but it was large, larger even than the Golden Hall of Meduseld, which she had beheld on several occasions, during her visits to Edoras, the chief settlement of Rohan, where King Theoden dwelt.

"What do you think?" Ithriel spoke with quiet pride.

Robbed of the ability to speak, Annalyn descended two steps and found herself on what she assumed was a dancing area. Spacious and round in shape, the smooth platform was supported by not one, not two, but seven _mallyrn_ , each standing in a great and near perfect circle.

Though the hall was set in the upper reaches of the trees, the surrounding treetops stretched up and out, creating a sheltering wall strewn with thousands of tiny lanterns, whose gentle light fell on the long tables that had been set on two crescent-shaped platforms on opposing sides of the hall. To reach these, one had to climb the low, curving steps that lined the outer edge of the dancing area.

Between both platforms, at the northern end of the hall, was another section, three steps higher than the dining areas. A dais, Annalyn realised, with a long table and ten chairs, two of which no doubt belonged to the Lord and the Lady.

"Do you see why we call it the Halls of Starlight?" Ithriel uplifted her palm.

Ensconced within the ring of trees, the dancing area was open to the skies. And since tonight was a new moon, the celestial canvas would soon turn inky black, but with a thousand stars. The evening being young, however, only a handful could be seen at this time, some much brighter than others, but each beautiful in its own right.

The most prominent of these was the Goat Star. The second, in a separate formation below the other, was orange in hue. The fiery eye of the bull. The sky being in constant motion, in a few hours, these stars would sink westward, yielding the zenith to other formations, like the twins, and the hunter.

A smile tugged at the corner of Annalyn's mouth. Tearing her gaze from the heavens, she regarded the large number of Elves that were already gathered—smiling and laughing as they mingled. It was a good thing the hall was spacious, for many were still issuing from the three archways lining the southern edge of the hall. It was here that Annalyn now stood, speechless and mesmerised, as Ithriel beckoned her to walk onward, into the throng.

As she nodded several greetings, Annalyn couldn't help but admire those around her, for the Elves of Lothlórien were indeed quite beautiful tonight, resplendent and radiant. Seeing them now, the joy and merriment in their eyes, one could almost forget the woes of this world.

"Annalyn!"

Upon hearing her name, she turned to see who had spoken. "Ninael!" she exclaimed as this one made her way over, sauntering in that casual manner of hers. While Ninael was as fair as any Elf, it was strange seeing her in formal attire. Instead of a tunic and leggings, the soldier was dressed in a wine-coloured gown, her dark and lustrous hair devoid of the warrior braids she usually sported.

"Well if it isn't my sparring companion. Welcome," Ninael said to Annalyn before greeting Ithriel.

The two Elves exchanged a welcoming nod.

"I must admit, I did not think to find you here," Ithriel put in as a circulating member of the serving staff stopped to offer them each a glass of sweet mead.

"What can I say?" Ninael replied, reaching for a glass as her eyes darted toward the heavens. "A star shines on this hour of respite." To Annalyn, she asked, "How is your shoulder?"

"Never better," she lied on a laugh, then motioned to indicate the hall. "So I gather you normally avoid these things?"

"I care not for dancing." The soldier regarded the revellers with pursed lips. "But the city has grown sullen of late, and it has been dampening my mood. But, since our people are setting their sorrows aside for the evening, I reckoned it would be a nice change of pace. Plus there is sweet mead aplenty." Now she smirked. "That never hurts."

"Glirwen and Bestedir," Annalyn said upon spotting them in the distance. Tonight, it seemed they had traded their kitchen duties in favour of enjoying the evening. Arm in arm, they were navigating the crowd, greeting friends as they went. "They seem happy."

"As does Taerion," Ithriel chimed in on a laugh.

Following the healer's gaze, Annalyn saw that he was beaming tonight. With a gracious bow, the young Elf eagerly accepted a drink from one of the serving staff.

"It is his begetting day," Ithriel explained as they all watched him from afar.

"So he is finally of age. No wonder he is happy."

"I do not believe it." By Ithriel's tone, Annalyn could tell her smile had faded away. A glance confirmed it. "What is he doing out bed?" Ithriel was saying with clear disapproval. "Excuse me."

At a loss, Annalyn watched as Ithriel pushed past them, cutting a path toward a newly arrived Elf, a male with pallid skin and straight flaxen hair. While his posture was proud, there was a hint of weariness in his gait. Even at a distance, faint circles could be seen under his eyes.

"Stubborn as always." Ninael chuckled, seemingly unsurprised.

"Is he a friend of yours?"

Ninael hummed in affirmation, fondness curving her mouth. "We serve together on the marches. Come. You know how Ithriel can be. We cannot miss this."

"What are you doing here, Celegon?" Ithriel was saying to him, hand reaching to support his arm. "Need I remind you that you have been stabbed recently? By a Morgul blade no less. You should be resting!"

Although Ithriel was speaking in Sindarin, Annalyn found she could follow the words with relative ease, a realisation that filled her with a sudden and profound sense of achievement.

"I have rested. I have slept," the male replied. "Endlessly it seemed. If I stayed home one more night, I swear I would have gone mad." Once he had assured Ithriel that he could stand unaided, Celegon straightened to full height and tugged at the hem of his tunic. "This is the Midwinter feast. Never have I missed it." His eyes now searched the crowd. "At any rate, I was told that Agoron might attend. Likely he is already mingling about somewhere. And Celondir would have come as well were it not for his leg."

Ithriel crossed her arms. "Agoron's wound was not as grave as yours. And neither was your brother's. Now in case you need reminding, you are still under my care. And as your healer I cannot—"

"Ah, Ninael," Celegon said when he finally noted her presence. "Rescue me, I implore you."

"Alas, I am afraid you are on your own," Ninael teased on a smirk. "I am merely here for amusement."

"I might have known," he said but did not seem to mind. If anything, there seemed to be genuine friendship between the two. Perhaps even a bit more, if his lingering gaze was any indication.

"Celegon." Ithriel waved a hand before his face.

When his eyes slid back to hers, he sighed in mild annoyance. "I am well aware of my recent injuries, but I am mending. I promise you, I feel strong enough to be here. Besides, I came prepared." He patted the silk pouch attached to his belt. "Strengthening draught. Three phials to be exact, prepared by none other than yourself, the finest healer in all of Lothlórien." In a show of flattery, Celegon bowed to Ithriel—though not without difficulty, it seemed. He even winced a little.

Ithriel arched a skeptical brow before heaving a sigh. "I suppose I cannot force you to leave. Very well. I will leave you be, but _only_ if you promise to retire at a reasonable hour. And if you are feeling weary at any time during the night, you will rest. Understood?"

"Perfectly." Now his attention shifted to Annalyn. "Ah, you I remember from the forest. However, I do not believe we have been formally introduced. Celegon is my name. And you are?"

"Annalyn. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I am told you are from Rohan."

"From the Westfold, yes."

"The Westfold. Never have I travelled tither, but I have heard tell of it. According to our messengers and scouts, the grassy fields are a sight to behold."

"That they are." Annalyn smiled.

Their exchange fell flat, but then Celegon returned her smile, shifting on his feet as he cleared his throat. "As you have probably guessed, I serve on the Northern Fences with Ninael." He indicated his shoulder. "At least I did up until I received this little scratch. But no matter, I fully intend to return to duty before long. Especially with war looming on the horizon."

"Must we speak of war?" Ithriel lamented.

"Of course, you are right. Tonight is for merriment." Opening the pouch at his hip, Celegon unstoppered one of the phials, and downed its contents in one gulp. As it took effect, Annalyn noted that it could not fully erase the weariness from his features. "Now for a proper drink." As he scanned the hall, Ninael offered to fetch him one.

"Not you as well," Celegon protested.

But Ninael was already ushering him toward the tables, casting a conspiratorial look at Ithriel when she said, "Lest you wish to keel over before the feast even begins, you are going to sit for a while."

Celegon arched a dubious brow. "I never knew you could be so nurturing."

Ninael leveled a look at him. But ultimately, she rolled her eyes and huffed a laugh. " _Pen-channas_ ," she said, shaking her head.

Since that last word was yet unknown to Annalyn, she leaned closer to Ithriel, and asked what it meant.

Unable to suppress her amusement, the healer watched the retreating duo. "She just called him an idiot. I might have done the same. Now come." She grabbed Annalyn's hand. "Let us mingle."

And so they did, circulating among Ithriel's many friends. As they drained their glasses, talking and laughing as the stars twinkled above, they were soon joined by Glirwen and Bestedir.

"I am happy you have come. The dress suits you," Glirwen said to Annalyn, who blushed and mumbled her thanks.

But then, with returning ease, Annalyn motioned to Glirwen and her husband. "I must return the compliment. You are all so beautiful tonight, and numerous. I never knew there were so many Elves in Lothlórien."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Glirwen allowed before addressing Ithriel. "I have not seen Orophin tonight. Is he not here?"

"Alas, he remains at the border with his brothers."

The wedded pair graced the healer with sympathetic smiles, but it was Bestedir who said, "Their service is greatly appreciated. Let us raise our glasses to them."

Once all had taken a sip, Bestedir sent a loving gaze to his wife, one that Glirwen returned with equal measure.

Love, Annalyn thought on a pensive smile, and couldn't help missing Haldir.

As friendly conversation continued around her, Annalyn drank what was left of her drink, and found that she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her lovely little shoes, it seemed, had been made with slender elven feet in mind. Lengthwise they were fine, but the slippers were a bit too tight on the sides.

Since the walk to the hall had been long, and the night promised to be a lengthy affair, Annalyn thought she might spare her feet for a while. _Only for a moment_ , she promised herself. With everyone laughing and talking, it seemed like an opportune time to slip away unnoticed. But when Ithriel caught her quiet retreat, a silent question forming in her eyes, Annalyn raised her now empty glass, and mouthed that she was going to get another drink.

Satisfied that all was well, Ithriel resumed a lively discussion with Glirwen, while Annalyn scanned the hall before making for the eastern platform, doing her best not to hobble along the way. Smiling at those who glanced in her direction, Annalyn eventually made it past the crowd. Relieved, she retreated beyond the empty tables, where she set her glass on the outer rail, and wasted no time in toeing off her shoes.

"Good gracious me…" She hung her head and wiggled her toes. _Free at last_.

Knowing she would have to don them again before long, Annalyn turned her attention to the lanterns that were strewn in the lofty branches above her head. Their light was soft and enchanting, a perfect match to the candles that flickered atop the banquet tables nearby.

Breathing in the night air, Annalyn faced the rail fully, and stared beyond the mighty boughs. With everyone gathered in the hall, the city would be mostly empty. Yet all was aglow.

There was no denying that she loved it here. But as timeless as everything seemed, Annalyn now knew the truth. The Elves were leaving—perhaps not in her lifetime, but someday. And when they did, this city and its people would fade into memory.

Drifting on the eddying current of her sadness, Annalyn recalled a conversation she had once had with Haldir.

" _The days are passing swiftly_ ," he had said to her as the two had sat on his balcony, watching the lamplit city late one night. " _Soon you will depart. What will you do upon your return?_ "

It had been a good question, one she had struggled to answer. " _I have not yet decided_. _I know that war is brewing. That it is a treacherous time. Yet a part of me thinks I should do as I have always done—wander the mountains in search of healing herbs, which are always needed, especially in times of war. But I shall see_ … _What of you? What will you do following all of this?_ "

" _Supposing we are victorious… I suppose I, too, shall do as I have always done. Guard the realm… for as long as it endures_."

Back then, Annalyn had failed to grasp the full meaning of his words. Now she understood.

It was remarkable in a way, for unlike mortals—who lived to see but a fragment of history—Elves could see entire realms come and go. Unless the unthinkable happened, and Haldir somehow fell in battle, he would live to see the end of Lothlórien, the only home he had ever known. _How will he bear it?_

As if that wasn't enough, he was now losing, or had lost, his heart to her. A mortal. In the eyes of an Elf such as him, her life would be over in an instant.

 _He knows this. Still he loves me_.

Pushing against her mounting guilt, Annalyn considered the possibilities. If they pursued this, what might his life be like once she had gone? Surely, the passage of time would assuage his grief _. He would_ _find healing over time, would he not?_ Annalyn chewed her lip. _Who knows, maybe he will grow to love another someday—an Elf such as him._ While the idea of him loving another woman distressed her a little, Annalyn could not expect him to spend the rest of his immortal days alone. Nor did she want him to. For Haldir to live again, love again, these were her secret hopes, the only things to soothe her conscience.

 _But what of me?_ If she were to choose a life with him, what would she do with the years that were given to her? Haldir was wholly devoted to Lothlórien. Unless he was forced to, he would never leave his home or his people—nor would she ask him to.

So then what would she do with her time here? And what of the people of the Westfold who relied on her to provide their medicine?

Annalyn ran a fingernail along the wooden rail. _One quandary at a time_ , she told herself. _Have patience, Annalyn. The answer will come to you._

Seconds turned to long minutes. Thinking her friends would soon notice her absence, Annalyn frowned at her discarded shoes, and somehow talked herself into wearing them again. Resigned to her fate—or rather that of her toes—she bent to retrieve each shoe, straightened and was about to—

The air left her lungs in a gasp, her mouth falling open as she stood not five steps away from the last person she had expected to see this night.

" _Dhe suilon_ ," A gentle greeting, as soft as the amusement on his beloved face.

Haldir.

Haldir was here, looking more fair than…

One of her shoes slipped from her hand, yet Annalyn was too stunned and captivated to pay it any mind.

Granted, Haldir had always been beautiful in her eyes. But tonight… Tonight, he was resplendent. Wearing grey trousers with a tailored tunic of the same muted blue as his knee-length over-coat, he reminded her of a winter prince, ageless and dignified.

With a hand to her heart, Annalyn drank in his appearance, and tried to swallow.

Haldir, for his part, watched her with that private smile of his, taking her breath away.

* * *

* _Dhe suilon_ – "I greet you." (formal speech)


	49. Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my readers and reviewers... thank you! xox
> 
> *** Sidenote #1: this chapter does not pick up where the other left off. It actually opens a few minutes before the end of chapter 48. Oh, and it starts in Haldir POV ;-)
> 
> *** Sidenote #2: if this story had a soundtrack, the song for this chapter would be "Beautiful Mess" by Kristian Kostov.

CHAPTER XLIX

VISION

It had been a close thing. Haldir had made it with little time to spare. By the time he had reached the city, bathed then donned appropriate attire, the gathering was already underway.

Mouth set in a line, Haldir had paused at the entrance to the hall, and was now scanning the expansive platform. Crowded though it was, he was quick to note that the Lord and the Lady had yet to arrive—same for the members of their household.

At least that. He was not so late after all.

Pushing his shoulders back, Haldir smoothed the buttons lining the front of his silk tunic before weaving through the assembled guests, nodding to some, murmuring quiet greetings to others.

Having lived here for three thousand years, he could put a name to every face he saw. Some he knew only in passing, but others were counted among his friends. Among these were the Elves who lived near to his home, and then there were his fellow soldiers—those fortunate enough to be on leave tonight. The rest would be guarding the forest, watching for intruders, keeping evil at bay.

Part of him was glad to be at the feast, if only to see Annalyn—if she was even here—but he also felt guilty, for a Marchwarden's primary role was to safeguard the realm. But the Lord and the Lady had extended an invitation. They wished for him to be here. He understood why.

A shroud of disquiet had fallen upon the Golden Wood of late, and fear was growing in the hearts of those who dwelt here. As if that wasn't enough, a growing number of Elves were now talking of leaving, stating they no longer felt safe, even in fair Lothlórien. Thus the Lord and the Lady had asked Haldir to attend, if only to bring a sense of normalcy to the night's festivities. Indeed, having both Marchwardens at the feast would send a message of strength and unity to the populace. Hope perhaps.

Though he preferred serving with sword and bow, Haldir would fulfill his appointed role, and honour his rulers' wishes. Tonight, he would walk amongst his kindred. He would listen to their songs and stories and, sitting at the Lord and the Lady's high table, would partake in the feast.

At present, the banquet tables were mostly vacant, for the night was young, and the Elves were only mingling at this point. Like him, they had donned their finest clothes for the event. A visual sweep revealed everything from sea green gowns, to amaranthine robes, raiments of white, grey, amber, even blue. But what of Annalyn, he wondered. Would she wear such formal attire? Was she here at all?

Hoping she was somewhere nearby, Haldir was searching the crowd when a male voice said his name.

Turning, he saw his russet-haired counterpart. "Erynion." He, too, was wearing a tunic and over-coat tonight, but his colour palette was warmer than Haldir's—warm orange-browns with subtle patterning.

"I was wondering where you were," Erynion said as he drew near. "It is nice of you to come."

"Celeborn and Galadriel wished for us to be here. I do as my Lord and Lady bid."

"Indeed. As do I." His smile only engaged his lips. Haughtiness personified. Hands linked at his back, Erynion asked about the Northern Marches. "I hear you have been tasked with destroying Morgul weapons. A most unpleasant undertaking, I am sure."

"It is laborious," Haldir allowed cooly. "But the smiths are diligent, and their work is continuing apace."

In spite of their personal differences, Erynion seemed glad to hear it. His demeanour growing more sombre, the warden produced a parchment from a hidden pocket in his over-coat, and held it out with a murmured, "Here."

Haldir drew his brows together. It was a report, one that sent icy shivers down his spine. According to what was written, a large winged shadow had been seen weaving back and forth in the eastern skies last night. A massive and beastly creature bearing a dark rider. By the lingering disquiet on Erynion's face, Haldir guessed that it was one of the Nazgûl, a Ringwraith enslaved to the will of Sauron.

Pushing against his unease, he pocketed the report, gave a brisk nod of thanks. Erynion might be a thorn in his side at times, but like him he was a Marchwarden first and foremost, capable of setting his quarrels aside for the good of the realm.

Their attention drawn to nearby laughter, the two wardens acknowledged some off-duty soldiers before turning to survey the crowd, uncertainty weighing heavy on their minds.

A Nazgûl. If it was prowling the skies, Haldir reasoned that it must be searching for something. And with the Ringwraiths, that "something" was not hard to guess. The One Ring.

_Is it found?_

While he was often privy to the Lord and the Lady's councils, neither Celeborn nor Galadriel had made mention of the Ring. Whether they knew of its whereabouts, Haldir could not say, and would not presume to ask, for some things were only discussed among the very Wise. But since the Ring had never been destroyed, Haldir knew it would be out there somewhere. Waiting. Biding its time and manipulating anyone unlucky enough to stumble upon it. Indeed, the Ring was bound to Sauron. No doubt it wanted to be found.

"I thought you would have sought the company of your guest by now," Erynion said after a moment. "How is she faring, by the way?"

Haldir tensed a little, knowing of whom he spoke. With a neutral expression, he eyed the surrounding guests before asking, "You have seen her?"

In lieu of answering, Erynion cast a casual glance toward the eastern side of the hall, where Haldir glimpsed a chestnut head of hair.

His booted feet were already moving. "If you will excuse me."

"You are most welcome," Erynion called after him and laughed.

Paying him no mind, Haldir cut a path through the crowd, toward the eastern platform. Given the number of guests, his view was obstructed at first, but as he got nearer, Haldir caught a better glimpse of the lone figure beyond the vacant tables.

It was her. Annalyn.

When he finally emerged from the throng, seeing her as she stood, arms braced on the rail, with her gaze on the city in the trees…

Haldir slowed to a halt. There was no other word for it, he was spellbound, not to mention relieved. For though he had believed she would stay, a small part of him had feared she would take flight, like she had nearly done just prior to his leaving.

But she hadn't left. She was here. And Haldir couldn't take his eyes off her.

Instead of a pragmatic braid, Annalyn had gathered her hair in a plaited twist at the nape of her neck. The style must have been unique to her or her people, for Haldir had never seen a woman's hair gathered in this fashion. After all, Elves usually favoured long, mostly unbound locks, appreciating the way they flowed over and down one's shoulders. But standing before her, seeing the elegant column of her neck, Haldir could not imagine a fairer sight.

At present, her feet were bare, her shoes lying haphazardly nearby. As endearing as it was, the creamy skin of her upper back soon drew his eyes. As did the way her gown hugged her narrow waist. Silver-white, the dress was made of a light fabric which flared at the sleeves and pooled at her feet. A delicate belt was cinched around her waist, of the same silver as the shimmering thread that was woven in her hair.

Although she was likely of average stature for a mortal, Annalyn had not the height of an elven woman, nor was she as willowy. Nevertheless, Haldir had always loved the smallness of her frame, the simple beauty of her face. From the moment he had first espied her through the trees, on that fair autumn day not so long ago, her eyes had captivated him—their shape and colour, and the way they would light up whenever she smiled. But tonight, Annalyn was a vision. Ravishing, he thought as he finally willed his feet to move.

Unaware of his presence, she was now fetching her shoes. But when she straightened and saw him, her surprise was such that she gasped, her mouth falling open as she stared and stared.

" _Dhe suilon_ ," he said at last, amused by how stunned she was.

In fact, Annalyn was so taken aback, one of her shoes inadvertently slipped from her hand. "Wha… What are you doing here?" she stammered breathlessly.

"Are you not glad to see me?" Haldir teased with feigned seriousness.

It was a moment before she returned to herself. "Of course! I am happy to see you. Delighted!" Now she was smiling—a joyous smile that encompassed her entire face. "Only I did not think to see you here tonight. When did you return?"

"Just now."

Their eyes held. Then he realised she was staring at him, looking him up and down with definite approval. "Blue suits you."

Unaccustomed to such flattery, Haldir rubbed the bridge of his nose before deflecting the attention. "I gather you are having some sort of problem with your shoes?"

She made a face. "Ah, yes. My shoes… Torture devices more like. They are much too narrow for my feet. I should have worn my boots." Now she eyed his feet, teasingly it seemed. "Yours look comfortable enough."

They were.

"Feel like making a trade?" she asked, and Haldir arched a brow.

Willing to play along, he eyed her shoes for a second. "As lovely as they are, I fear I must refuse. My boots are far too comfortable, you see. And your shoes would be much too small."

"Doubtless. A shame, then."

Their mirthful gazes held, then a familiar tension asserted itself. It always did. Softly, she said, "It is good to see you."

* * *

Ah, but he was beautiful, silent and smiling in the wake of her confession.

If not for all the eyes in the hall, Annalyn might have stared at his perfect mouth. She might have done more, like wrap her arms around his frame, and thank the fates he had returned from the watch unscathed. But since she had more restraint than that—would never embarrass him in such a way—Annalyn merely watched him, and took heart in the possibilities that now lay before them. A chance at love. A chance at a new and happy life. Perhaps.

Mindful not to get ahead of herself, however, Annalyn rubbed her arms, then finally sought her shoes. "As much as my feet enjoyed the respite, I suppose I cannot walk barefoot all night."

"You may leave them if you wish. No one would mind."

At first, she thought he might be jesting, but his eyes said otherwise. "Walk around without shoes?" She snorted. As tempting as it sounded, Annalyn could not envision going barefoot. Not in the middle of the hall, and certainly not during a feast. "Although my feet would certainly be thankful, I am not Lady Galadriel. I neither have the grace nor the confidence to walk unshod amongst your people. Besides..." Now she smirked and, having donned her shoes, stood to full height. "I was born and bred on the Westfold. I will not allow a wee bit of pain to put a damper on my evening."

His eyes sparkled at that. He even seemed joyful. Indeed, Annalyn saw no trace of the turmoils he had felt of late. It made her think that, maybe, this truly was a turning page for them.

Having gotten over the initial shock of his arrival, her gaze drifted down once more, allowing her to catch some details that had escaped her initial notice. His muted blue over-coat bore subtle patterns, silver accents that brought out the pale gold of his hair. When her gaze travelled to his face again, she found that he was watching her, with softness in his eyes.

"You stayed," Haldir said quietly. Despite the kiss they had shared on that staircase, Annalyn realised that a part of him had feared she might slip away during his absence, ending what they had.

Her heart twisting at his confession, it was a moment before she could speak. "I could not bear to leave."

Perhaps he meant to conceal his relief, but Haldir's face dipped downward at that, his eyes falling closed for a moment, then two. When he finally reopened his eyes, he was smiling that subtle smile again. Annalyn couldn't help but smile in turn.

"Shall we?" she asked, wanting nothing more than to spend the evening on his arm.

Acquiescing, Haldir bowed in Elf-fashion and held out his arm. At the edge of the sea of guests, he searched the crowd, then signaled for one of the serving staff.

After accepting two glasses of miruvor, Haldir handed one to Annalyn. As she grasped the crystal stem, his fingers lightly brushed against hers—not by accident, she knew. It wouldn't be, not with him. Haldir was much too aware for that, his keen senses tuned into his surroundings and all that he did.

Smiling behind the rim of her glass, Annalyn sipped at her drink and was scanning the space for Ithriel when a gradual hush fell upon the crowd. Like a wave, it started at the back of the hall and rolled forth. As she and Haldir both turned to look, guests parted in a rich whisper of fabric, revealing the Lord and Lady of the Wood.

As the wedded pair proceeded toward the dais, issuing silent greetings as they went, none could miss their splendour. As always, an ethereal light lay upon the Lady of Lórien. As for Lord Celeborn, he too was beautiful. White was his raiment, and silver was his hair. Unlike Galadriel, however, there was no light upon his noble features. Recalling what Haldir had once told her, Annalyn deduced that the Lord of Lórien had never beheld the two trees of Valinor. If memory served, those who had were called Calaquendi—Elves of Light.

Her gaze returning to Galadriel, Annalyn saw that she was now looking in her direction, her blue eyes atwinkle as she nodded in greeting and spoke into her thoughts.

 _I bid you welcome, Annalyn of Rohan_.

Caught by surprise, it was a moment before she could gather herself and reply in kind. _Thank you, my Lady_.

Whether anyone was aware of their silent exchange, Annalyn had no idea. The Lord and Lady had already passed them by, and were now ascending the stairs leading to the dais. Shifting her focus to the rest of their noble household, Annalyn's eyes were immediately drawn to an elf-woman, dark of hair and fair of skin. Even at a distance, Annalyn could see that her beauty rivalled that of Lady Galadriel.

"Arwen Undómiel," Haldir supplied quietly by her shoulder. "The Evenstar of our people."

Not knowing what that title meant, Annalyn trailed her with her eyes, and had the distinct impression that this Elf—Arwen—was kin to the Lord and Lady. Somehow sensing her question, Haldir explained that she was their granddaughter.

Next followed the Lady's maidens, then a few others Annalyn had never seen until now. Then finally, at the very back of the line, was a face she knew. Proud and gallant features. Sharp eyes. Russet hair.

Erynion, Marchwarden of the Southern Fences.

"Now I fear I must leave you." Haldir turned to face her, genuine regret tugging at the corner of his mouth. "As Marchwarden, I am expected to join them."

Though she hated to be parted from him so soon, Annalyn understood. "There is no need to explain," she assured him and meant every word. "I shall find Ithriel." To set his mind at rest, Annalyn relieved him of his glass, then said, warmly. "Go. I shall see you later."

And so, Haldir took his leave of her, netting quite a few stares as he dutifully fell into step beside his counterpart. Pride stirred in her heart, for as she watched him and all those around, it was clear that Haldir was held in high esteem in the realm. Even if he seemed cool and aloof at times, the Elves must have known that he would lay down his life for them. Such was his devotion to his kindred, to Lothlórien.

But what about the other warden? Curious, Annalyn sent her gaze over to him. While she, herself, did not know what to make of Erynion—nor could she explain the underlying tensions between him and Haldir—she couldn't help but wonder how he was regarded in the realm. Did the Elves love and respect him?

A sweep of the crowd told her that they did. _He must be a good warden, then_.

The procession was nearly at an end when clear voices rose in song. A song Annalyn had heard on several occasions, always at nightfall. The hymn to Elbereth, the Vala also known as Varda. Soothed by the music, Annalyn looked to the dais once again.

Haldir and Erynion had assumed their place at the Lord and the Lady's table. A high honour to be sure, and a fair sight. Her heart swelling in her chest, Annalyn fixed her attention on Haldir. His features were guarded, yet his eyes soon found hers from across the room. Breathless, she watched as he smiled, just a little. Just for her.

* * *

Her laughter floated over the music and drone of conversation, reaching his ears from afar. As Haldir partook in the feast, seated a few chairs down from the Lady Galadriel, he could not help but look toward Annalyn's table every once in a while. At present, she was seated to Ithriel's left, with Taerion, Ninael, Bestedir and Glirwen and many others sitting nearby. For the most part, these Elves dwelt near to his home. Friends, and a family of sorts. To see Annalyn among them, with joy and laughter in her eyes, did something to him. In truth, it made his life to see it.

 _She is kind of heart_. Galadriel's silent words seeped into his thoughts, making him look toward her. Even though she was presently speaking with Lady Arwen, little escaped the notice of the Lady of the Wood. Her wisened gaze flickered over to his. _Now a choice lies before you_. Her mouth curved just so. _Even if a part of you has already chosen_. By these words, Galadriel made it clear she knew what no one else did—that Haldir's _fae_ had already made its choice. Now all that was left was a choice of the mind.

Unable to gainsay her words, Haldir sent his gaze across the hall again, to Annalyn. Mindful not to reveal all of his thoughts, however, he took a long sip of wine.

* * *

The feast had been a treat for the senses—elegant dishes with so many succulent tastes and smells, Annalyn would have gladly licked her plate, were it not for her manners.

When all had eaten, a quiet had settled upon the hall, for the Lady of the Galadhrim had risen and was now speaking words of welcome. But though she stood in gladness, the mood turned bittersweet when her fair voice rose in a song, poignant and sad. " _Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,_ _yéni unótimë ve rámar aldaron_ …"

For though the language was unknown to Annalyn—Quenya, she later learned it was called—the Lady's words settled into her thoughts, but in Westron this time.

 _Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind,_  
_long years numberless as the wings of trees!_  
 _The years have passed like swift draughts_  
 _of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West,_  
 _beneath the blue vaults of Varda_  
 _wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly._

_Who now shall refill the cup for me?_

_For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars,_  
_from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds,_  
 _and all paths are drowned deep in shadow;_  
 _and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us,_  
 _and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever._  
 _Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar!_

_Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar.  
Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!_

Valimar. A realm, or a city perhaps, beyond the waves in the West—in Aman. From this, and the sorrowful longing in the song, Annalyn soon construed that the Lady Galadriel lived in Exile. If so, her heart went out to her, for it was a sad thing being parted from home, even if your new home was as beautiful as Caras Galadhon.

It was now well past midnight, but the Elves were tireless and the celebration was far from over. With their empty plates long cleared away, most of the revelers were now swirling about the dance area, moving with such elegance and grace, Annalyn couldn't help but stare.

Their steps and turns were smooth, though not as intricate as she had first believed. After a time, Annalyn found she could even anticipate their movements—when they would turn, and how.

"Do you dance, Annalyn?" Ithriel asked while the two remained at the table, several chairs away from where Ninael and Celegon were downing their latest round of wine.

"On occasion, though never like this."

"How do your people dance, then?"

"In groups mostly." With the clapping of hands and lively steps and turns. Sometimes, dancers would even hold hands, moving in sequence, creating patterns. "It is quite spirited," she went on, thinking of those warm gatherings in the mead hall. "When I was young, I rather enjoyed it. Though in recent years, I mostly watched from the side. Now I wonder…"

"What is it that you wonder?" Ithriel prodded.

"With the approaching dark, it seems doubtful that my people will have much reason to dance and rejoice. The Rohirrim are valiant and fierce in battle, and they will fight to the very end to defend our homeland. But this war is unlike any we have ever known. I fret, and cannot help but wonder what will become of Rohan."

Ithriel traced idle patterns on the white tablecloth. "That, I understand."

"When my kin and I left our village, I felt certain that our journey would be like all the others—that within a few months, we would have returned with full stores of medicinal plants. But our journey turned out quite different. And now I shall return empty-handed and alone."

As Ithriel waited in silence, Annalyn went on, "My uncle and cousin were well liked in my village. The news of their demise will grieve many, I am sure. Erna, especially. Ah, the poor girl."

"Your cousin's beloved?"

Annalyn nodded. Needing to think of other things, she looked to the dancers once again. How long she sat there, Annalyn had no idea, but after a time, she caught glimpse of an orange-brown over-coat. Erynion. At present, the Marchwarden was dancing with an elven woman—his wife perhaps.

"Have you met him?" Ithriel asked, then clarified, "Haldir's counterpart."

"We have been introduced."

"I see it in your gaze. The unspoken questions lurking behind your eyes," Ithriel said at length. "You may voice them if you wish."

"It would seem that little escapes your notice," Annalyn countered with faint amusement. Not knowing if she should broach the subject or not, she chewed her lip for a moment, her eyes darting back to Erynion. _Oh, but what business is it of mine?_

Being terribly curious, however, Annalyn ultimately went for it, lowering her voice when she began, "When Haldir first introduced me to him, there seemed to be some sort of tension between the two. Why is that? Is there bad blood between them?"

"So you have noted it." Ithriel sat back and regarded Erynion. After a long pause, she asked if Haldir had ever told her about the night his parents had died.

"He has told me of it, yes. It is a sorrowful tale."

"It was a tragic time. Naught was ever the same again. The loss of so many soldiers, combined with the knowledge that a Balrog now lurked in the Mines of Moria, brought along many changes for the realm. Amroth, who was our King at the time, was set to leave for the havens. However, err he departed, it was his wish to strengthen our defenses," Ithriel said then went on to explain that the Galadhrim's ranks were already lessened in those days. "You see, we had lost a sizeable part of our forces many long years before, in the Battle of Dagorlad."

"During the War of the Last Alliance," Annalyn offered, recalling how Haldir had once told her of it.

Ithriel gave a nod. "Thus it was decided. More soldiers were needed, with improved patroling to ward against the evils that were gathering beyond our borders. Instead of a single watch, Amroth declared that the Golden Wood would thence be divided into two garrisons, the Northern and Southern Marches, with _two_ Marchwardens."

Annalyn's brows rose by a fraction. It was now starting to make sense.

"When Haldir's parents were slain, Erynion was not yet a Marchwarden. Rather, his father was."

"Erynion's father?"

"Yes. But that being said, Erynion was not some lowly sentinel. Seasoned and capable, he was second in the line of command in those days."

As Ithriel spoke, Annalyn couldn't help stealing glances at him from afar.

"When it became known that his father would be leaving for Valinor, Erynion fully expected to be given command of the outer Fences. Not just the Southern Marches," Ithriel clarified, "but the entire Golden Wood. So naturally, when he learned that his territory would be greatly reduced, that a second Marchwarden would be appointed, he was not exactly pleased with the idea."

Ithriel toyed with her empty glass for a moment, twirling the stem between her fingers. "And when he learned that Haldir had agreed to assume the mantle of Marchwarden, that Galadriel herself had chosen him, well…"

"He resents him," Annalyn finished for her.

A nod confirmed it.

With the mystery finally solved, Annalyn's gaze strayed over to the dais, where Haldir was now conversing with Lord Celeborn.

"You might not know it, but he is changed," Ithriel offered after a time.

Not knowing what to say to that, Annalyn reached for a nearby flagon of wine and refilled both their glasses. "In what way?"

"There is joy in his eyes, where there was none before." The curve of Ithriel's mouth suggested that Annalyn was the cause. "You should go to him. Ask him to dance."

Annalyn nearly dropped her flagon before setting it down. "You mean go up to him while he is sitting with the Lord and Lady of Lórien? Then ask him to dance?" She cringed even as she laughed. "Have you gone mad?"

But Ithriel's mirth was undimmed. "It was but a thought."

"And what thought would that be?" A voice suddenly interjected.

It was Taerion. Drink in hand, he approached the table and pulled up a chair.

"It is nothing," Annalyn answered on a chuckle and promptly changed the subject. "Rumour has it that it is your begetting day."

Now Taerion beamed. "The rumours would be true."

"One hundred years young," she teased as flutes and harps fell silent.

On the dance floor, dancers bowed and curtsied. Some lingered in wait for the next dance, while others dispersed.

Taerion was now eyeing the far side of the hall, a contemplative expression on his face.

"If I didn't know any better," Annalyn said to him. "You look as if a great debate has come into your thoughts."

"Indeed. I thought I might ask the Lady Arwen for a dance."

A snort of laughter echoed over the table. It seemed Ithriel had come very close to spitting out her wine. But then, with a lowered gaze, the healer soon mastered her mirth. "Forgive me. That was rather ill-mannered of me. But… Lady Arwen?" A soft warning flashed in her eyes. "Her heart is taken, Taerion."

"Fear not. My aim is not to win her heart, nor would I ever hope for such a match. But Lady Arwen has ever been kind to me. Do not forget, she and I are kindred spirits in a fashion. I may be the youngest Elf in Lothlórien, but she is the last High Elf begotten this side of the Great Sea."

"How old is she?" Annalyn asked, unthinking.

"A few centuries younger than Haldir," Ithriel answered.

As Taerion and Ithriel continued their discussion, Annalyn was reminded of all she had learned in her time here thus far. The Elves of Lórien, she now knew, were comprised of different cultures, like the Silvan and Sindar. The Lady Galadriel, Haldir had said, was counted among the Noldor. She was also Calaquendi, an Elf of Light. Now Taerion had spoken of High Elves. Clearly, there was some sort of societal hierarchy among the elven peoples, one she was only beginning to understand.

The Sindar, for instance, were not native to these parts at all. Rather, they had once lived in Beleriand, a part of Middle-earth that had long since fallen into the sea. Lord Celeborn, Ithriel had said, was counted among the Sindar, just like she was. " _After Beleriand was destroyed,_ " she had relayed to her one night, _"the Lord and the Lady retreated to Lindon, where they dwelt until they decided to move again, helping to establish another elven realm. Eregion it was called. Many of the Elves of Beleriand made the journey and abided there, my grandsires among them. Thus it was that my mother and father were begotten in Eregion. When it fell, my parents and others followed the Lord and the Lady as they journeyed to the Golden Wood, where the princeless Silvan Elves lived under the rule of King Amdír. He, too, was a Sinda who had journeyed eastward after the ruin of Beleriand. That is how the Sindar came to dwell here._ " Groups of them arriving in waves.

When prodded further, the healer had revealed that a great number of the Sindar were scholars and deep thinkers, scribes, and healers.

Not so for the Silvan Elves—or so it seemed, for the most part at least. As unlearned as she was, Annalyn had always been good at spotting patterns. Spurred by that insatiable curiosity of hers, she had observed, listened, and learned much these past few weeks. With the exception of Ithriel, those who lived in or around Haldir's home tree were mostly of Silvan descent. Chamber maids there were, along with farriers, smiths, and stablehands, just to name a few. A working class.

Earlier in the night, when Haldir had taken his place at the Lord and the Lady's high table, Annalyn had noted the love and respect with which the Elves had beheld him. But if her powers of deduction could be trusted, it was more than that. The Silvan Elves were proud. Proud to have one of their own serve as Marchwarden of Lórien.

Like countless times tonight, Annalyn's gaze slid over to the dais, but she was surprised to find that Haldir's chair was now vacant.

_Where has he gone?_

Before she could find him in the crowd, his voice reached her from behind her chair, a simple greeting to those seated at the table. Then, honing his attention on Annalyn, he cleared his throat, asked, "I trust you are enjoying your evening?"

"I am." Like earlier in the night, his beauty nearly devastated her.

"It heartens me to hear it." A moment passed, but he did not look away. "Would you dance with me?" he asked, taking her aback.

Stunned into silence, Annalyn kept staring up at him, and only blinked at first. Haldir was waiting, his upturned palm hovering in the space between them. "Unless your feet require more rest," he added. There was that teasing glimmer again, the one she loved so.

In a brief moment of alarm, her gaze shot to Ithriel, who was nodding in encouragement. " _Go!_ " her eyes seemed to say. Same for Taerion's.

So Annalyn gathered her courage, but felt the need to warn him. "I might embarrass us both. Never have I danced in this fashion."

He only smiled.

And so, with her heart pounding in her chest, Annalyn stood on slightly trembling legs, laid her hand atop of his, and followed as he led her around the long table, down the steps and across the dancing area, until they had reached a spot near the very center of the hall. There, he turned to face her, his eyes never leaving hers even as he let go of her hand.

Annalyn felt her face grow hot, partly because Haldir had that effect on her, but mostly because of that cursed pride of hers. _What if I make a fool of myself?_ All around, couples were readying for the dance. Swallowing, she did her best to ignore them, but had to will herself to breathe.

The music began.

As the Elves in the hall moved in graceful, swirling patterns, Haldir noted her hesitation. With a twinkle in his deep blue eyes, he spoke with calm assurance. "You need not be nervous. I shall lead you well." Whether it was the low richness of his voice, or the way he held her gaze, something kindled in her being, a flame of courage that guttered a few times before righting itself. Her chin rose, her back straightening as a smirk curled her mouth, then his.

Haldir gave a bow while Annalyn grasped the sides of her skirt and curtsied in return. Her head inclined, she lingered for a moment before rising again. Doing so, she saw that he was offering his hand once more. She took it. Beneath the twinkling stars, he narrowed the gap with a single step, while his other arm framed her ribcage. Tipping her head back, Annalyn beheld the beautiful contours of his face, and as he gazed at her through long midnight lashes, she felt the steadying warmth of his hand on her shoulder blade.

And then he was moving, leading her to the left, before easing into a smooth turn that blended seamlessly into the next step. On and on it went, a simple dance at first, no more difficult than a parry. But with each additional step and turn, it felt as if they were getting better acquainted as dancers, partners. Soon, Haldir released her frame and raised her hand, guiding her into a turn that had her spinning on her feet before locking into their form once again.

A short while later, when he repeated the motion, Annalyn caught the way he raked his gaze over her figure, in a manner that left little doubt as to what he felt for her. Her lips parting ever so slightly, she wondered if he saw the same emotions on her face, if he could hear how her breath would catch whenever he looked at her that way.

 _This cannot be real. Can it?_ It was, though. She was truly here, dancing the night away with the most magnificent male in all of Lothlórien.

But while some might know him in his role as Marchwarden, to her he was simply Haldir, a beloved friend who she now felt certain was the love of her life. Surely, he knew this. With a brief look at the surrounding revellers, Annalyn sensed he was not the only one.

"People are staring," she whispered to him and felt rather than heard his snort of laughter, warm, low, and not the least bit concerned, which was surprising considering how guarded he was.

"And you are troubled by this?" He sought her eyes.

"No. Only I thought that you might not—"

"Let them stare." Three words, soft and direct, letting her know that if they were going to explore the possibilities between them, he would do so without shame or diffidence. Confident, that's what he was, assertive in every decision he made. Annalyn liked that part of him, and felt that wonderful ache again, deep within herself, at being the object of his affection.

How long they danced, she could not say, for it seemed to her that the world had come to a beautiful standstill. Despite the music and the numerous Elves in the hall, it felt very much like she and Haldir were the only two people left in Middle-earth. As one song blended into the next, Annalyn held his gaze, and secretly breathed him in as they danced. Goodness he smelled nice. However, the scent that now clung to him was not cedar and cloves. Rather his scent was reminiscent of a spicy autumn wind. Unable to help herself, she moved a little closer, and recalled the bottles that lined the edge of his bath—liquid soaps or fragrant oils. As he swept her to the left then fluidly to the right, his clean scent wafted to her nose, as wonderful and maddening as the time she had unstoppered the bottle to satisfy her curiosity.

One graceful turn yielded to another. Beneath the shimmering stars, they danced.

"We can take a rest if you wish," Haldir offered after a time, searching her face. "I reckon your feet would welcome the respite."

Suddenly reminded of the tightness of her shoes, Annalyn had to agree with him. Dancing with Haldir was delightful, but her feet were rather sore at this point. "You are quite right, though I did enjoy dancing with you tonight."

"The pleasure was mine," he confessed on a murmur before ending the dance and sketching a reverent bow.

Once she had curtsied in turn, Haldir offered her his arm, and they started across the hall. Though proud to be by his side, Annalyn was unaccustomed to the attention they received. Nodding and smiling to those who greeted them, Annalyn was halfway to the tables when she sensed a gaze on her. Looking to its source, she saw that beautiful elleth again. Lady Arwen.

Presently, she remained at the high table, watching them from afar, her fair features radiating gentle warmth. Unless Annalyn was mistaken, the Lady's eyes bore a tinge of gladness underscored by something more wistful. As Haldir acknowledged the elleth with a respectful nod, Lady Arwen graced them both with a smile, inclined her head in turn, then shifted her attention to Galadriel.

Slightly puzzled by the wordless understanding that seemed to have passed between Haldir and Arwen, Annalyn allowed her gaze to linger on the elleth. _What was all that about,_ she wondered. But then, remembering why they were here, she chose to set the question aside, and followed Haldir so they might enjoy the rest of their evening.

Once the two had made their way to Annalyn's table, Haldir pulled out a chair for her. Once she was seated next to Ithriel, he then sat beside her.

"You both must be thirsty," Bestedir put in from across the table as he poured them each a glass of wine.

Accepting their proferred drinks, Annalyn had just taken a sip when Ithriel leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You worried for nothing. You danced beautifully out there." Nudging her chin toward Haldir, Ithriel lowered her voice even more. "Never have I seen him so entranced. You two are radiant together."

Annalyn might have blushed at that, but the sureness of his love for her banished such insecurities. Spending time with Haldir, exploring that which existed between them… come what may, it felt right. Whether this hopeful feeling would hold, she had no idea. But for the time being, Annalyn clung to it.

"We did not expect to see you here tonight," Glirwen was saying to Haldir. Seated by her husband, her brown hair burnished by candlelight, the baker beheld him with joy. "It is good that you have come. Watching you all on the dais tonight, it felt like simpler days." When the threat of open war was not upon them.

Haldir merely inclined his head at that. Perhaps he was unsure of what to say.

As conversations continued around them, Annalyn scanned their cluster of friends. Ithriel, Glirwen, Bestedir, Ninael with her friend Celegon. It was nice being here amongst them.

"I scarce believe my eyes. He did it." Ithriel's voice severed her musings. The healer was gawking. Following her gaze, Annalyn saw that Taerion had gone ahead and asked Lady Arwen for a dance.

The two were dancing near the front of the hall. Whatever Taerion had just said to her, Arwen's clear laughter echoed out over the other dancers.

"Taerion spoke truly. Lady Arwen has ever been kind to him." Ithriel said on a smile.

"He is a bright soul," Glirwen stated as she turned to watch them.

Since elven children were a rarity, Annalyn could imagine that he had been something of a treasure in Caras Galadhon.

Glirwen said, "It is hard to believe how much he has changed these past few decades. I remember when he used to wander in the kitchens, barely tall enough to peer over the counter."

Fond laughter ensued.

"And now he has reached maturity," Bestedir said as though he could scarcely believe it.

"I have never seen his parents," Annalyn said by way of question, her eyes going to Haldir.

But it was Bestedir who answered. "Just over yonder, near the end of the table."

Once Annalyn saw them, there was no mistaking who they were, especially his father. Taerion was the spitting image of him. How strange it was, to compare grown Elves to their parents. Because of their ageless appearance, it was nigh impossible to tell which generation came first.

Shortly thereafter, the music ceased, and a gradual hush fell upon the hall. Looking to the dais, Annalyn saw an Elf she did not recognize. As he addressed those in the hall, she realised that the time had come for the telling of tales.

As the dancers regained their chairs to listen, the Elf waited a moment longer before launching into the first tale. In all, he told several of them, from both Middle-earth and the Blessed Realms. Fascinated, Annalyn hung on to every word—at least those she understood. When their meaning was muddled, Haldir would somehow sense this, and he would retell some parts in Westron. Lulled by the comfort of his company, and all the wine she had imbibed, Annalyn drifted in contentment. She learned a great deal that night. Tales of courage, great deeds of old. It was a lot to absorb, yet she knew that it was but a glimpse into the long history of the Elves.

When the last story had reached its end, music followed in its wake. But as the Elves reclaimed the dancing area, Annalyn's attention strayed to her companion. Oh, how she had missed Haldir these past twelve days.

Even with the magic of this night, she wanted nothing more than to be alone with him.

Though she was careful not to reveal her selfish and secret wish, Annalyn soon sensed that he was watching her.

"The night is late," he offered, drawing her eyes to his. "You must be weary."

Recognizing his words for what they were—a socially acceptable excuse to slip away before the festivities ended—Annalyn's heart quickened with guarded hope. Playing along, she did her best to look tired, even going so far as faking a timid yawn. "Ah, pardon me. I admit it has been a long day."

Amusement flashed in his gaze, but was gone again when he said, "If you wish to retire, I can walk you home if you wish."

 _Leave it to Haldir._ Schooling her features into a cautious expression, Annalyn went along by voicing a question. "It would not be rude?"

"Nay," was all he said, and seemed to mean it. With graceful movements, Haldir rose and offered his apologies to their friends. Whether they saw through the pretense, Annalyn could not say. But none of them seemed to mind. In fact, their eyes fairly twinkled as they bid them both good night.

And so it was that Annalyn and Haldir finally exited the Halls of Starlight.

At first, Haldir walked with his hands linked at his back, but when the hall had faded from view, Annalyn felt a feather-light graze on her knuckles. Glancing between them, she realised that he had sought her hand. Her insides awhirl with a giddy sort of excitement, she watched his elegant fingers as they slipped around her wrist, toward her palm, before linking with her slender digits. As simple as the gesture was, there was something inherently intimate about walking in this fashion.

Thus they strolled across the city, neither speaking as they moved from one mallorn to the next. With the remainder of the night stretched out before them, Annlayn couldn't help but wonder what it would hold. _So many possibilities_ , she thought and looked sidelong at him _. So many things to say._

When Haldir met her eyes, the same musings were etched on his fair features.

"At the table back there," he began. "I meant what I said. If you are weary…"

"I am not." A smile curved her mouth, then his. "Lead the way," she said and walked onward, into the peaceful night.


	50. A Truth Laid Bare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all who have been reading this story, and all who have commented so far... thank you! xox

**CHAPTER L**

**A TRUTH LAID BARE**

The air was incredibly tranquil this night. All around, the leaves were still. With most everyone gathered at the feast, Haldir and Annalyn had chosen to slip away, and were now walking across the city, their hands linked between them. Above the great mallorn trees, the moonless sky was cloudless, bedecked with stars. A perfect Midwinter night. By now, the music from the festival had faded somewhat behind them. Same for the clear and merry voices of the Elves.

At present, the loudest sound was that of Annalyn's shoes, a rhythmic thudding of heels on wood. Coming to a halt, she bent at the waist, her hand reaching for her left foot while the other remained nestled in the cradle of his palm.

While his thumb traced a loving arc over her knuckles, Haldir watched her with fondness, his smile broadening as she removed one shoe, then the other.

How women could stand wearing such things was beyond his understanding. Some, like Ithriel, claimed they could be as comfortable as a worn pair of boots, and perhaps that was true. But these shoes had not been made for Annalyn. They were much too narrow for her feet. And yet she had worn them all night, enduring the discomfort not to dazzle, but rather to blend in. It spoke of her nature, he supposed. Proud and stubborn, yes. But not vain.

Now that they were well away from the feast, her sensible side had finally asserted itself, and she had freed her feet from their bejeweled confines. Haldir was happy to see it. After all, why should she suffer needlessly when she was already beautiful, and always would be in his eyes?

With her slippers now dangling from her fingers, Annalyn straightened, threw her head back in relief, and proclaimed, " _Now_ I will walk without shoes." Her laughter caressed his eardrums, filling his heart with gladness. They were walking again. Soon they left the suspended pathways, choosing to wander the green avenues instead.

The grass beneath her feet would be soft, he knew.

"Judging by those stars up there," Annalyn began at length, and seemed to be walking even closer. "I would say we were headed east and south. Where are you leading me exactly? Unless we are choosing paths at random," she added as an afterthought.

"Oh, I am leading you with intent."

"Intent?" The arch of her brow told him she was intrigued.

"This way," was all he said.

Caras Galadhon was vast, with varying features and backdrops, both natural and crafted. Some parts of the city were more populated than others. Some parts were not populated at all. In some areas, true wilderness had been allowed to flourish. Pockets of nature, lovely and untamed.

With one such destination in mind, Haldir led her toward a wild collection of yew trees and cedars, with lofty pines growing here and there. Because these were much smaller than the surrounding _mallyrn_ , it gave the illusion of beholding a different forest altogether.

"What's in there?" Annalyn asked as they paused where the grass ended and the wilderness began. "Should I don my shoes again?"

"You may leave your shoes. But fear not, I will spare your feet." Sensing her confusion, Haldir voiced her remaining options. "In my arms or on my back?"

Annalyn blinked, and then she laughed. "You wish to carry me in there?"

"It is either that or you wear your shoes." He cut a dubious look toward her slippers. She soon did the same.

In the end, it proved to be an easy choice. "Your back it is." Setting her shoes aside, Annalyn made to climb on, but hesitated as the long hem of her dress gave her pause. "How should we do this?"

The dress complicated things, it was true. Haldir pursed his lips, then thought of a better idea.

One moment, Annalyn was standing at his back, one hand on his arm as she debated how to climb on. The next Haldir turned and she was being lifted, squealing as he banded the upper portion of her legs in one arm. Gasping, Annalyn loosed a giggle, and braced both of her hands on his shoulder.

"You dare carry me like a sac of grain?" Her body shook with laughter. Then it was his turn to laugh. A full and throaty laugh, the likes of which he had not experienced in a very long time.

"You are still upright, are you not?" Haldir tilted his face to meet her eyes, bright and beautiful they were.

Their laughter soon faded. They shared a smile.

"Well, there is that," she said, her voice lowering to a murmur.

Ah, but he was enjoying this. Despite his long years, Haldir felt like a young _ellon_ again.

Mindful of the surrounding branches, he carried her southward, into the night-clad woods.

"This is different," Annalyn noted after a time, holding herself upright as she swept a fascinated gaze all around. "Are we even in Lothlórien?"

Instead of silver and gold, the two were now surrounded by dark evergreens. Strong and vibrant, they stood like proud sentinels. In addition to the view, the smells were different also, for the air was redolent with cedar, with hints of pine here and there. Because there were no lamps in these parts, their surroundings were bathed in nothing but starlight. As he carried her further into the woods, Haldir found he had to focus on his surroundings, or at least try to. Annalyn's proximity was distracting. The same for the thinness of her dress beneath his palm.

"I hear water," Annalyn said, her words carrying him to another time. Indeed, she had spoken these exact words the day he had first espied her through the trees, when her company had been journeying toward the lively stream that the Elves named Nimrodel.

"There is a stream over to your right," he explained. But this one was much smaller than Nimrodel. "It issues from a spring-fed pool up ahead."

He felt her gaze on him. "You are taking me to see a pool?"

"Yes and no."

Even without looking, Haldir knew she was shaking her head. Mirthfully, she said, "Elves and their riddles."

And so he walked onward. They were almost there now, the display in question already visible to his elven eyes.

Braced on his shoulder, Annalyn twisted her body to see up ahead. When she finally saw it, he could practically feel the awe in her being. In the stillness of night, she drew in a breath.

Moments later, he was setting her down on a patch of grass that overlooked the hidden pool. Smooth and clear as glass, it lay before a backdrop of shadowy cypress trees. Her eyes, however, paid little heed to the water. Instead, Annalyn was looking up, her mouth agape as she beheld the thousands of fireflies that were swooping and flashing before them.

"Sweet Mearas… How is this possible?"

Instead of flying every which way between the surrounding trees, the fireflies kept to an area no larger than the pool above which they flew. The effect was lofty and spectacular, for the insects formed a glowing column of light, as straight and as high as the bole of a mallorn.

"You must have sensed it by now," Haldir began, "the hidden power in Lothlórien. Benevolent and pure, this power flows in much the same way as water does. While it moves over everything, preserving and heightening the beauty of our realm, it eddies in some places."

With one hand over her heart, Annalyn took a few steps forward, her upturned features mesmerised. Coming to stand by her right shoulder, Haldir bent his gaze upon her. She might not know it, but her skin and the silver-white of her dress reflected minute traces of light.

Quietly, he said, "If you close your eyes and breathe in deep, you will feel it. The power thrums in this place." As Annalyn did just that, Haldir watched her still. "The fireflies are drawn to it," he stated at last. But his eyes were drawn only to her.

Along with fireflies, there were nightingales here, their sleepy songs carrying over the trickle of water.

Annalyn opened her eyes again. "I could watch this all night." No sooner had she said this, than her hand found his own. Whether she squeezed first or he did, Haldir did not know.

Taking a moment to enjoy their surroundings, he swept a gaze over the mirror-like pool, admiring the way it reflected the shimmering column above. Since Annalyn seemed to be in no hurry to leave, he released her hand, drawing a curious gaze as he shrugged out of his formal over-coat.

"Here," he told her as he laid the garment upon the ground. "For you to sit on."

Thus they settled upon the grass.

After a long silence, broken only by the sounds of nature, Annalyn spoke without looking at him. "I've missed you these past twelve days." Her chin lowered, colour now staining her cheeks. "Honestly, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Moved by her quiet confession, Haldir closed his eyes for a moment. "You occupied my thoughts as well." He meant it. Night and day, he had carried her with him. He always would. For Annalyn had found her way into his heart. No matter where they went from here, she was his love, his chosen. He knew that now.

But did she know of their bond? Could she sense it?

His intuition told him she was unaware. But then Annalyn was mortal. And as far as he knew, the concept of soul bonds was foreign to her people. His thoughts shifting to their future, he couldn't help but wonder what she would think when she finally learned of it. Should he tell her now? Or should he wait a little? Would the notion of soul bonds frighten her? Would it be too much too soon?

After all, they had barely begun this newest chapter, and yet here he was… already lost. Craving the comfort of her closeness, Haldir reached out and touched her face. As he caressed her jaw-line, she leaned into him, and he pondered what to do.

The last thing he wanted was to overwhelm her and frighten her away. To be sure, his words and their timing would have to be chosen with great care.

"So what we shared on that staircase…" Her words drew him out of his thoughts. After a moment, Annalyn looked sidelong at him. "You harbour no regrets, then?"

"None." He didn't even have to think on it. His reply just tumbled out. Hoping to convey his earnestness, Haldir reached for her hand. Raising it to his mouth, he laid a kiss upon her knuckles, then placed her palm over his heart. "When I turned back and scaled those steps… When I took you in my arms, I meant it."

The curve of her mouth reassured him. But then his brows creased in a troubled frown. "Although I should warn you, I am somewhat out of practice with such things." He who had been alone for so long, his years of courting Nethrien so far removed he was unsure how to proceed. It was a strange dichotomy—being seasoned and experienced in many ways, yet wholly untried in others. It was a precarious balance. And yet it was wonderful, too.

"Such things?" Annalyn prodded with a smile

Gathering his courage, Haldir cleared his throat, and lowered her hand. "This. What we are doing."

"Which is?" The cautious hope on her face made it clear that she already knew the answer but desperately needed for him to say it.

"I cannot speak for you, but for my part…" Haldir took a moment, hoping to calm the wild beating of his heart. "I am courting you." Her breath caught at that. He heard it. Then quietly, cautiously, he asked, "Is it your wish that I do so?"

Seemingly moved by his words, Annalyn lowered her eyelids for a moment. In the end, her answer came by way of a nod, as subtle as it was gentle.

His heart swelling at the sight, Haldir drew her toward him. As her arms snaked around his torso, her face nestling in the crook of his neck, he looked skyward and thanked whatever powers had led her to him, and he to her—not once, but twice. As far as chance went, it defied belief. But then who was he to question fate?

How long they sat, Haldir could not be certain.

Without breaking away, Annalyn spoke again. "You made me feel special tonight, out there in front of everyone." Now she drew back. "Th—"

His eyes widened. She was going to _thank_ him? Nay. He would have none of that.

"I nearly fell to my knees when I saw you," he cut in fervently before her thanks could tumbled from her mouth. "You must never doubt this: none were more blessed than I this night." It was no mere flattery either; Haldir meant every word. "I was the most fortunate male in that entire hall, and _most_ proud to have you on my arm." _You mean the world to me, Annalyn._

She blushed at that, but made no reply. While Annalyn had strength in her character, and could certainly hold her own with him, there was a vulnerability to her tonight, the likes of which he had not seen in her until now. It gave him pause and made him wonder if it had anything to do with the hurt she had felt the other night, when she had climbed up to his room, bravely offering herself to him only to be denied in the end.

Before he could broach this most difficult topic, Annalyn turned to look at the fireflies again. He wished he knew what she was thinking.

"You once told me that Lothlórien means the 'land of blossoms dreaming'." Her mouth curved a little. "This place really is a dream. Though I suppose it should come as no surprise. Your people seem intimately connected to the Powers of the world. I admit, Elves oft strike me as otherworldly." Embarrassment crept onto her features. "Even you."

In the ensuing silence, Haldir wondered if Annalyn felt unworthy. The notion that she might see him as this untouchable being did not sit well with him. His brows pinched in a sudden frown, he told her, "We are not so far removed, you and I. We are both Children of Ilúvatar, closer in kinship than all other creatures in this world. You are not beneath me, Annalyn."

If anything, it was he who felt unworthy. He had wounded her more than once these past few months—especially once their feelings had begun to change—first by pushing her away, then by holding her at arm's length. And then there was the other night.

Haldir's regret was undying. The memory pained and shamed him still.

"I know," she said, with newfound confidence on her face.

But then, before he could say anything, Annalyn winced, reaching behind her head as she huffed a laugh. "These hairpins. They're either pulling or digging." Her breath hissed as she struggled to pull one free.

"Here. I will help you." Haldir shifted. "Sit closer to me."

Seemingly glad for the help, Annalyn settled between his legs, her back to him.

As he found and removed each pin, Haldir worked to loosen the intricate twist of braids. When they finally unfurled, he ran his fingers through the plaited strands, releasing her hair one braid at a time. With careful motions, he removed the decorative silver thread that she had woven in the thinnest braid, and set it aside.

Once her tresses were freed from their confines, Haldir ran his fingers through the heavy curtain, loving the way her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back. When his fingertips found the angry spot just above the nape of her neck, her head tipped forward, and she all but moaned.

"Your hands are magic." Melting beneath his touch, Annalyn gave a soft hum, then she hissed again, in relaxation this time.

As they sat there, Haldir drifted on her heart sounds, a gentle _lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub_ that overlapped the beating of his own heart.

Content, that's what he was.

"That feels nice," she said in a voice both sultry and low.

Haldir swallowed hard, but kept on going. Sensing she would enjoy it, he soon turned his attention to the muscles in her shoulders, in her neck. To his delight, she melted even more.

At length, Annalyn turned her face to catch his eyes. Her mouth was pulled in a gentle smile, her eyes alight when she asked, "Do you think I could…" Quietly enthused, she chewed her lip for a moment, then shifted on her knees until she was facing him. "I have never seen you without braids. Would it be alright if I…" She waited in answer, her hand now hovering near the small plait by his ear.

Haldir leaned toward her fingers, inviting her to do as she would. With quiet excitement in her eyes, Annalyn released this first braid before moving to its twin on the other side of his head. Seemingly awed by what she saw, she ran her fingers over the strands. "When I loosen my hair at night," she began, "my hair usually retains the waves of my braid. But you… Your hair is as straight as can be." Falling silent once more, Annalyn rose on her knees so she could reach behind his head. Moments later, the top portion of his hair fell freely, and she ran her fingers through it. "I like this. You look beautiful this way."

When she swept his hair back, his eyes closed at her touch. Before long, Annalyn was massaging his scalp, her fingers moving in slow, circular patterns. His left hand stationed at her hip, he allowed his head to fall forward, his brow coming to rest on her shoulder. Now it was his turn to sigh.

"Haldir…" The huskiness of her voice enticed him. Like a moth to a flame, he looked into her eyes, and what he saw there, in those hazel depths, prompted him to slowly reach for her wrists and lower her hands. In that moment, no words were spoken. With a gentle pull, Haldir guided her to sit upon his lap.

As her arms laced around his neck, her legs off to one side, their gazes held. Softly, he asked, "May I kiss you, _firiel_?"

Her throat bobbed. After a beat, she said, "I would be terribly disappointed if you didn't."

Their kiss was soft and lingering. Long overdue. Ah, but he loved her mouth, the sweetness of her lips and that of her tongue. For several long moments, both were content to remain as they were. But as time went by, the air thickened, the mood turning syrupy as their kiss deepened into a slow mating of mouths.

As the ends of her sleeves slid and gathered at her elbows, Haldir stroked her forearms, felt her skin rise in gooseflesh. Before long, Annalyn moved. Placing a hand upon his shoulder, she adjusted the skirt of her dress and actually straddled him. By then his blood had already quickened, but now it heated even more. Within an inch of losing his mind, Haldir broke the kiss, then eased away just enough to lower his gaze, to see.

Though the view was hidden by the flowing skirt of her dress, her bare legs were now hugging his outer thighs. Just knowing this…

He kissed her again—he had to—for her boldness had ignited an inferno, the mood as searing as a red-hot billet of steel.

It spoke of the depth of his love for her, for unwed Elves were seldom swayed by the desires of their bodies. Patient and cautious, they could take extraordinary amounts of time just to decide they loved another, and even longer before revealing their feelings.

But time was a luxury they did not have, for Annalyn was mortal. Moreover, she would be leaving in three days—forever or for a few months, he did not yet know. Casting the uncertain future from his mind, Haldir chose to focus on the present instead, on the expressive and passionate woman whose velvet tongue now tangled with his own.

Bewitched by the little sighs she gave, he cupped her face with both hands, and sought to convey his devotion. Annalyn was his life. His torment. Had she any idea how cherished and irreplaceable she was?

"You have no idea, do you?" he breathed against her mouth.

"No idea of what?" Her body trembled. Perhaps his did, too.

Because his head was spinning, Haldir sought to catch his breath. As he held to her, his brow coming to rest against hers, he picked up the thread again. "Of how exquisite you are. Of how dear you are to me. Of how much I…" He trailed off. It wasn't so much a fear of saying it as opposed to the state he was in.

Haldir was overwhelmed, his love for her as wild as it was dizzying. Nothing would ever change that. Nothing ever could. _She owns me._

Before Annalyn had stumbled into his life—before he had lost his heart to her—Haldir had never known, never fathomed, that it could be this way. That he could love a woman so deeply and completely. But now that he had found such a love, he felt more alive than he had in a very long time.

As they breathed the same air, Annalyn kissed his cheek, then embraced him. "I love you." The joy in her words, spoken softly by his neck, reached into the very heart of him. "So much."

His chest ready to burst, Haldir tilted his head back and loosed a breathy laugh, one that was rooted in exultation and gratitude. "Ah, _meleth nîn_."

Guiding her mouth back to his, he envisioned himself with her, lying skin to skin as he explored the plains of her body and kissed her all over. Such a future was indeed possible. Given how things were going now, it even seemed likely.

 _If she knew my thoughts_ , he mused and watched her through his lashes. _If she knew the hurried leaps my heart and mind are taking, she would think me mad._ Perhaps he was.

Indeed, his thoughts were racing away from him, envisioning scenarios that weren't even in discussion yet. He needed to breathe, to take things down a notch. But a mortal had conquered his immortal heart, and now time was his enemy.

If Annalyn's feelings mirrored his own, if she was as lost as he was, how long would it be before they made the move? _If_ they made such a move.

If a wedded life lay in their future, would they follow elven custom, waiting a full year between their betrothal and the actual ceremony? _Four seasons lost and wasted._ Given the finite nature of Annalyn's life, he found the idea distressing.

Perhaps they would do away with tradition, then. His _fae_ almost wept at the thought.

Indeed, it was at all times lawful for Elves to marry without ceremony or witness—for the act of bodily union achieved the marriage bond. _Would she ever wish for this?_

Though he gave no outward indication of it, Haldir was growing annoyed with himself. His thoughts were barreling ahead. _Nothing is decided. You cannot be certain of what she wants._ Not until they had an open and frank discussion. And right now, few words were being spoken, for their mouths were otherwise occupied.

As they held to one another, their lips parted only to fuse again.

Caught in a freefall, Haldir gave in to his mind once more. Behind his closed lids, he saw a vision of "what might be". Annalyn clad in a nightdress, her features loving and kind. In the vision, she was leaning toward him while he sat at his desk. As her fingers ghosted along his cheek, the kiss she bestowed upon him was gentle. " _Do not be long_ ," he heard her say before withdrawing up the stairs, to his bedroom— _their_ bedroom. Oh, how he yearned for such a life.

The feel of her skin brought him back to the moment, and he soon realised that his hands had ventured beneath her dress, and were now skimming her bare skin, from ankle to knee, then higher still. Of course, he had touched her legs before, but Annalyn had always worn breeches. Not this time. The warmth of her bare thighs was new to him, more than enough to drive him wild.

"Haldir." The way she said his name… Such want.

Driven by need—his and hers—he wound a possessive touch up along her thighs. When his palm met the thin fabric of her smallclothes, Haldir paused for a moment—a mere blink—then instinct took over. Before he could stamp down on his ardour, his palms went around her hips toward her backside. Cotton-clad softness in hand, he moulded her, then hauled her closer to him, heightening the contact they both craved.

Annalyn whimpered in response, the sound blending with his primal growl. There was so little between them now—his breeches and her smallclothes, that was it. Haldir was so hard he could barely stand it. What he wouldn't give to plunge into her, completing the marriage bond he so craved. It was absurd, he knew. They had barely begun this courtship. Nevertheless, the desire was there.

Haldir did not possess the gift of foresight. But if they ever chose to wed, he felt certain that they would set fire to a bed someday. Such was the heat between them.

As Annalyn dragged her nails across his back, her center rolling against his groin, waves of pleasure overtook him. Hearkening to the needs of his body, Haldir guided her motions until he couldn't stand it anymore. It was too good, and he was too close. By the looks of it, Annalyn was in a similar state.

Every time he pressed into her, she would whimper or cry out, the sound muffled by his hungry mouth.

His body shuddered.

"Yes," he heard her say.

Lest he spill his seed in the confines of his breeches, they would have to cease this soon. In desperate need of air, Haldir severed their kiss. Swallowing hard, he gathered her in a crushing embrace, and buried his face in her hair.

Save for the rise and fall of her chest, Annalyn had grown still. When she said his name, asking if he was alright, there was a note of concern in her voice.

Recalling her recent heartache, Haldir sought to reassure her by pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "I am more than alright. I but need a moment."

In the soft glow of fireflies, he rode on her heaving breaths for long moments, silently praying for his blood to slow. Easier said than done, however. She felt so good against him. And her scent… _The Valar help me._ Their encounter had roused her body, and the scent of her condition was so maddening, he couldn't help but breathe it in.

At length, Annalyn relaxed against him, her hand stroking loving patterns on his back. Adrift on the sensation, Haldir took several calming breaths.

When, at long last, he felt ready to speak, he did not loosen his hold, but kissed her hair one more time. "I am sorry I hurt you the other night. I should have explained myself. Words cannot express how deeply I regret."

After a beat went by, Annalyn eased away to catch his eyes. "I pushed too hard too fast. You need not—"

"I must explain," he interrupted, then his tone gentled once more. "You need to know."

Now she seemed truly puzzled, a hint of apprehension lurking just below the surface. "Know what?"

"The significance of such an act, what it would have meant for you and I."

His gaze falling to the little dip at the base of her throat, he went on. "When you offered yourself to me, you cannot know how badly I wished to have you. But to accept such a gift, without your full knowledge and consent,"—his eyes fell shut—"it would have been unforgivable."

"Unforgivable? In what way?"

Haldir stalled by licking his lips. With so much at stake, he had to choose his words with care. "When an Elf lies with another…" Needing to anchor himself, he placed a hand on the side of her face, and finally sought her gaze. With utter solemnity, he said, "It is as binding as any rite of marriage."

It took a few heartbeats for his words to sink in. But when they did, Annalyn's mouth fell open, her eyes widening not in confusion, but in alarm.

Before he could make sense of it, she slowly backed away from him.

"You are saying you've never…" The shock in her eyes was jarring, as was the way she turned away from him.

Distressed by her reaction, Haldir blinked a few times, then reached out a hand, only to have her shrink away from his touch. _Why is she doing this? What came to pass just now?_

Her outline haloed in the glow of fireflies, Annalyn faced the pool, as though she could no longer endure his gaze. It frightened him.

As her silence stretched on, she knelt and kept on staring ahead. His keen gaze discerned that she was trembling.

To be sure, something had gone horribly wrong just now. But what? His declaration had been the catalyst, it seemed. " _When an Elf lies with another, it is as binding as any rite of marriage_."

Baffled to the extreme, Haldir was revisiting these last few moments when her words came flooding back to him. " _You are saying you've never…_ "

Suddenly, he understood, and his chest turned to lead.

Her unbound locks made darker by the hues of night, Annalyn tipped her face toward the heavens, her head shaking from side to side as she breathed a bitter laugh. Before Haldir could move or find the words to say anything, she turned her face just so. "I have." Her broken whisper had a definite edge to it—an edge that was clearly aimed at herself.

A silent moment went by. She was waiting for his reaction, it seemed.

"Wilmaer," was all he managed to say.

Annalyn's chin dipped downward. "Wilmaer," she confirmed with quiet distaste. With shame.

Anger welled within him, and his hand closed in a fist, hard enough for his nails to bite into his palm.

She said, "At the time, I sincerely believed he and I would wed. But then he made a fool of me." Another resentful breath and she was shaking her head again. "How could I be so blind?"

Though Haldir wished she would face him, he made no move, nor did he speak.

"What's done is done," Annalyn offered at last. "Surely, you are disappointed in me." Dragging her fingers through her hair, she drew a steadying breath, her tone surprisingly staid when she said, "Even so, as much as I regret, I will make no apologies for my past choices and mistakes, for I truly loved him at the time, and I did not know you then."

Willing air into his aching lungs, Haldir schooled his features into a controlled expression. Evenly, he murmured, "Yet you avert your gaze and will not look at me."

"I never wed him." Her words were defiant. "Wilmaer is a liar and a cheat. Never would I consent to marrying such a man. No, I am not wed to him." Her spine was straight, but then her fragile strength buckled and her shoulders curved inward. When next she spoke, her voice was small and broken. "Though I suppose, in your eyes I might be."

And there it was, the truth laid bare, and the real reason she was cowering in shame, unwilling and unable to meet his eyes.

Desperate to close the gulf that yawned between them, Haldir sidled closer. Wordlessly, he came to sit behind Annalyn. When he touched both of her arms, she tensed again, and made as if to leave. But his hands remained where they were, holding her in place—not roughly, though. Never.

"You are a daughter of Rohan, not an Elf," he began quietly, swallowing the pain he felt. That man, that undeserving cur, had touched her in ways he had only ever dreamed of. Placing no blame whatsoever on Annalyn, Haldir drew her toward his chest with infinite care. Then he bent his gaze on her. _You are not his wife. You do not belong to him._ His aching heart beat with nothing but love for her. Though she now owned Haldir's heart, Annalyn was not bound to anyone _._ Like the sand martins that nested on the banks of Celebrant, she was free to fly and soar, to go and do and love as she pleased. Softly, he said, "Your laws and customs are your own."

Annalyn's breath hitched at that.

"Forget about him. He has no claim over you." No sooner had these words rolled off his tongue, than her hand rose to her mouth. Her body shook a little. Despite her effort not to, Haldir knew she was weeping. His eyes fell closed. "I do not think ill of you, nor could I ever…" His whisper brimmed with emotion, his lips resting against her hair. "You are a _gift_ , Annalyn. That man did not deserve you."

Now, she turned in his arms, her face seeking the crook of his neck as her fingers curled into his tunic, holding to him as though she feared he might disappear.

But Haldir wasn't going anywhere. He was here with her and, if she would have him, he always would be.

* * *

* _firiel_ – "mortal woman"

* _meleth nîn_ – "my love"


	51. Within Reach

CHAPTER LI

WITHIN REACH

Annalyn had been dreaming of the Horse Plains, seeing the verdant landscape from far above, as a bird would, when she awoke to the sound of gentle knocking. Opening one bleary eye then the other, she stretched before grabbing a robe and padding to the door, where Tellil, the chamber maid, informed her that her bath was ready, and that Haldir had asked if she could meet him at the armoury at her earliest convenience.

His summons, combined with the steep angle of the light that now filtered through the curtains, jolted her to wide-awakeness. _Oh, curses!_ She had failed to realise how late it was. It was the afternoon!

When she and Haldir had parted ways in the early hours of the morning, the two had agreed to spend a much-needed day together. So they might talk and perhaps figure out where they would go from here.

Thinking back to those quiet moments when Haldir had walked her to her door, Annalyn recalled the guarded hope she had felt.

" _Will I see you tomorrow? Today_ ," she had corrected herself. " _Or will you be leaving for the marches again?_ " Given Haldir's responsibilities, she had half-expected it. With open war on the horizon, there was such weight on his shoulders, so much to oversee, and so much for him to do.

Stopping by the front door, he had faced her fully. " _If I were to leave, I would not return in time to bid you safe travels. Nay, I am not leaving. Not this time_." The way he had said it… The gentleness in his eyes…

" _So then I will see you in a few hours?_ "

In lieu of answering, Haldir had first narrowed the space between them, making her tremble when his fingers had brushed her palm, raising her hand to his lips for the softest of kisses. " _Nothing would please me more_."

But now she was running late.

"Will you be joining him, then?" Tellil inquired, snapping her thoughts to the present.

Schooling her features into a polite smile, Annalyn promised to go at once, adding, "Well, after I bathe. But… the armoury? Did he say why?"

"Nay. However, he did ask that you bring your sword."

"My sword?" Now Annalyn was truly baffled. Her weapon? Today? "Did he say what for?"

But Tellil only laughed, shaking her head. "I am but the messenger." With a courteous nod, the Elf bid Annalyn a good afternoon, and was on her way.

At a loss, Annalyn hastily gathered her things before making for the bathing room at the far end of the upper landing. But even as she bathed, washing as quickly as she could, the question remained: _Does he wish to train?_

Annalyn enjoyed training, it was true. And she loved learning from the Elves. But given her impending departure, and the heavy decision she and Haldir had yet to make, it seemed like a strange and wasteful way to spend their day.

Indeed, tomorrow would be for final preparations—packing, verifying her supplies, and seeing to the horses—for she and Ninael were set to leave for Rohan before daybreak on the day after next.

Washing and dressing in short order, Annalyn was fastening her vest when she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. Having just been washed, her clothing bore no visible stains, and yet she had to admit they were beginning to show their age. _Pity_ , she thought, for she rather liked these clothes. Granted, they paled in comparison to the ethereal dress she had worn last night. But Annalyn liked dressing this way. It was comfortable, practical. If anything, it felt more like her.

That wasn't to say she hadn't had a good time last night. Quite the opposite. As she promptly tamed her locks and braided her hair, her thoughts circled back to the moment Haldir had surprised her by that rail. He had looked so handsome and dignified. But more than that, he had seemed genuinely happy to see her. Relieved even.

" _You stayed_ ," he had said during their reunion, as though a small part of him disbelieved it.

Moved by his confession, she had taken a moment to reply. " _I could not bear to leave_." No truer words had ever left her mouth.

"There." With a nod at her mirror image, Annalyn smoothed a hand over the leather stays of her vest. Deeming herself presentable, she then left the bathing room and went in search of her sword-belt. By the time she was hurrying out of the house, she was still daydreaming, smiling as she recalled the pride she had felt while dancing with Haldir.

In all truthfulness, the festival had been perfect. Even so, it was nothing compared to the private moments that followed. The laugher they had shared when Haldir had carried her through the woods. The awe she had felt upon seeing the innumerable fireflies above the hidden pool.

Even now, Annalyn recalled those quiet moments, the tender words they had spoken. Once they had decided that they were indeed courting, Haldir had guided her onto his lap. And then he had kissed her.

Thus he had set aside the warden, loving her as a red-blooded male instead. Although they had refrained from shedding their clothes and joining their bodies, they had opened their hearts fully and made love in other ways. With winding touches and hooded eyes. With whispered declarations and fervent kisses. All of it punctuated by moans and hums and breathy sighs.

As if that wasn't powerful enough, they had spoken in the aftermath, divulging things that needed to be said, starting with the reason Haldir had denied her that night, when she had climbed up to his room in hopes of making love.

When he had finally told her about elven marriages, explaining how they came to be, Annalyn had stiffened in shock and astonishment. Haldir—this confident male, both ancient and wise—had never been with a woman? It made perfect sense now, but in the moment it had defied belief.

As the full meaning of his words had set in, so too had her fears. The fear of what he might think when he learned that she had once given herself to Wilmaer. The fear that he would think less of her, or worse, that he would see her as a woman already wed and bound.

Luckily, for a mercy, Haldir had wasted no time in quieting her fears, soothing her aching heart with whispered words, spoken against her scalp. " _You are a daughter of Rohan, not an Elf. Your laws and customs are your own."_ By themselves, these words would have been enough, but then he had followed with another declaration. " _You are a_ gift, _Annalyn. That man did not deserve you_."

Now her feet carried her past the kitchens, then down the stone steps that hugged the hillside. Eyes lost in a dreamy gaze, Annalyn mirrored his sentiment. _You are my gift, Haldir_. And right now, her gift was waiting for her. _Best to hurry, then_.

Though they hadn't been parted long, Annalyn missed being near him, and couldn't wait to see him again.

Her thoughts lingering on last night, she saw them as they had been—mouths fused in sensual exploration, limbs locked in a passionate embrace. To hold and kiss him had been one of the most freeing and rousing experience of her life. But what of today, she wondered. How would it go? They had so much to discuss and decide. If only she hadn't overslept.

Since the armoury was near to the Galadhrim's training yard, it wasn't long before Annalyn found the structure. Made of stone rather than wood, Lothlórien's armoury was a marvel to behold, with tall archways flanked by statues carved in the likeness of elven soldiers.

In contrast to the surrounding city, there was a lot of bustle here. Elves were coming and going, while in the neighbouring training yard, no less than thirty soldiers were honing their skills under Erynion's watchful stare. Noting her presence, Haldir's counterpart inclined his head in a proud yet gallant greeting. Acknowledging him in turn, Annalyn looked to the soldiers again.

Awed by their prowess, she couldn't help but gawk at them as she walked on toward the armoury, where the guard at the entrance took notice of her and said, "You may enter. The Marchwarden awaits inside."

Her arrival netted several stares, she noted. But unlike last night—when the looks had been mostly curious—some of the Elves beheld her with troubled expressions laced with concern.

But then _, we weren't exactly subtle last night._ In fact, Annalyn and Haldir had spent a good portion of the night in the middle of the hall, dancing with their gazes entwined, their feelings essentially laid out for all to see. As if that wasn't telling enough, they had slipped away shortly afterward, leaving the Elves to wonder where their Marchwarden had gone.

Now these soldiers regarded her as she passed by. And though most were courteous enough to incline their heads in greeting, Annalyn could tell they were uneasy, maybe even fretful. She could easily guess why. Their Marchwarden, a respected and much-loved captain of the Galadhrim, was in love with a mortal.

Seeing their faces, Annalyn couldn't help but wonder what Haldir's friends truly thought of their deepening relationship. At their table last night, Glirwen, Bestedir, and the others had been nothing but kind, they eyes shining in gladness. But underneath their smiling faces, a part of them must have been worried.

Ithriel, for her part, seemed wholly in favour. Annalyn couldn't help but wonder why.

Some of the guards were still staring at her. Unaccustomed to such scrutiny, Annalyn stamped down on her guilt and returned their nods as she walked onward, into a vast space lined with tapestries, all manner of elegant weapons, and the most stunning suits of armour she had ever seen.

A few weeks ago, Annalyn had glimpsed these marvels from afar, when she and Ithriel had stopped by the training yard to watch Haldir instruct his soldiers. The armoured suits had impressed her then. Now the craftsmanship awed her even more. Slowing as she passed them by, Annalyn's fascination grabbed hold of her, and she stopped to examine the nearest one.

The cuirass and pauldrons were as graceful as leaves, fashioned with bronze, silver, and gold. The cuisse and hauberk, however, were plated in gold only. Same for the gorget which had been crafted to look like dragon scales. Transfixed, she was running a finger over the golden points when Haldir's voice reached her from beyond an archway leading to an adjacent room. Noting her presence, he called her name.

Remembering why she was here, Annalyn immediately ceased her study, and went to him.

By the looks of it, Haldir had been pouring over documents, his hands resting on the edge of a large wooden table in the middle of what looked to be a war room. Like most elven structures, the space was airy and partially open to the outside. They could even see the training yard from here.

"I see Tellil delivered my message," Haldir said by way of greeting. "Did you rest well?"

"Too well. I wished I hadn't slept so long. I feel like the day has gotten away from me." _From us_ , she wanted to say. With so little time left, they couldn't afford to waste any of it. "Thank you for sending Tellil," she said and meant it. Today was far too important. She knew it. And Haldir knew it, too.

Ambling further into the room, Annalyn couldn't help looking him up and down. His sword was at his hip, but instead of Galadhrim grey, Haldir had opted for umber trousers today, with a white tunic which he had rolled at the sleeves. With an admiring glance at his corded forearms, Annalyn rounded the table, and patted her scabbard. "It seems I was to bring my sword?"

Amusement shone on his otherwise unreadable face. Shuffling his documents into a neat stack, he faced her as Annalyn said, "I must admit, I did not expect we would be training today."

"You think that is what I have in mind?"

"Is it not?"

But the warden would not yield his secrets so easily. Instead, he piqued her interest even more by glancing toward the threshold and moving past her.

"Wait. Where are we going?" Hastening in his wake, she exited the room and found him as he was grabbing his quiver from a weapons rack.

"Well?" Annalyn prompted as he proceeded to fasten the leather strap across his broad chest. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"

With his quiver in place, Haldir reached for his bow then grabbed a satchel. "Neither. Instead I will show you."

She bit back a laugh. It was so typically Haldir.

And so, he led her out into the light of day, traversing the green avenues ever southward until the city gates came into view. As they opened before them, Annalyn spotted a familiar outline beyond the stone road outside. "What's Cobalt doing here?" To Haldir, she smiled. "Did you do this?"

Taking his silence as confirmation, Annalyn walked over to where her horse was grazing. Allowing Cobalt to smell the back of her hand, she greeted her dear friend with gentle words then noticed another horse nearby. In contrast to Cobalt's dark coat, this horse was a light dapple grey, with a mane of pure white.

"Thank you for bringing them here," she heard Haldir say in Sindarin.

Annalyn had not noticed, until then, that a stablehand was lingering nearby. "It was my pleasure," this one said. "May your day be joyful and your paths be green." With that, the Elf took his leave.

"So now that we are out here, are you going to tell me where we are going?" Annalyn said as she mounted her horse.

Doing the same, Haldir patted the horse's neck before answering, "It is a fair day. I thought we might go for a ride."

A vague explanation. Nevertheless, Annalyn discerned his intent and was grateful. By venturing outside the city, the two would be truly alone together, away from prying eyes and ears as they grappled with the decision at hand.

"I would like that," she said softly, "but why the weapons?"

He brought his horse nearer to hers. "Call it a force of habit. Even if the Naith is well-guarded, it is always more prudent to bear weapons beyond these walls."

"Sensible, I suppose."

Thus they went, taking to the sunlit meadows at a refreshing canter. Stealing a glance or two, Annalyn had to own that Haldir could ride. He seemed completely in tune with his horse, his tall frame conforming to every movement with graceful ease. He cut quite a figure as he rode just slightly ahead of her. His hair shone like white gold in the sun. Slowing to a trot, then a walk, the two eventually guided their horses into the sheltering woods, where songbirds could be heard between the trees. It was altogether peaceful, with the occasional leaf falling here and there.

The two rode in silence for a time, traversing the timeless woods in a lazy arc, until their path brought them nearer to the city again, where they emerged into another meadow.

"Cerin Amroth," Haldir explained, but she already knew.

Her thoughts awash with the dream she had once had—his nightmare that she had witnessed rather—Annalyn spared him a glance and wondered if he knew they had been sharing dreams. Instead of asking, however, she surveyed the impressive landscape and rode forth. Unlike the dreariness of the dream, a warm light lay over everything. "It is beautiful."

Dismounting within the concentric circle of trees, the two settled upon the grass for a meal, for Haldir had thought to bring food in his satchel. Grapes, peaches, nuts, bread, and a few bite-sized pastries—which he clearly loved. Wine he had brought also, which he opened in short order.

Smiling a private smile, Annalyn swept a gaze over the meadow. But soon the dream filled her thoughts again. Haldir had once told her that he feared for his brothers, for his soldiers, and all who lived here. He feared for Lothlórien. His nightmare, she now knew, had been a representation of that: the destruction of these woods, the end of Caras Galadhon, the place he loved above all others.

Troubled by all she had learned of late—about Sauron and the War of the Last Alliance, about Aman and the waxing glory of the Elves—Annalyn couldn't help but wonder how it would all play out, and when.

Was Ithriel right? Would the Elves be forced to leave Middle-earth?

A world without Elves…

The thought made her profoundly sad—though hopefully, they wouldn't have to leave for a very long time. Keeping to that hope, Annalyn skimmed a gentle hand over the grass by her legs. "What do you call these?"

"Hmm?" Haldir followed her line of sight. "Oh, you mean the flowers. The yellow ones we call _elanor_ , whereas the white ones are called _niphredil_. Long have they grown in this meadow." By his absent tone, Annalyn could tell that he had withdrawn deep within himself, and that flowers were the farthest thing from his mind.

His next words explained why. "Last night was simple and wonderful, a much-needed escape for both of us. It was not a time for deep questions, nor was it a time for life-altering decisions. However, today…" Now he looked to her, and his eyes were sad. "You are a proud woman of the Mark, a wandering spirit who has seen much of this world. I am a warden of the Galadhrim. You know I cannot leave here."

"I know," Annalyn said, hoping he would perceive how sincere she was. "You belong with your people. I would never expect nor ask you to leave."

"Do you miss it," he ventured softly, and reached out a hand, his fingers brushing the side of her face. "Do you miss your home?"

Her features became subdued. She couldn't lie to him. She wouldn't. "I miss it, yes… But given all that has happened, I know that nothing will ever be the same again."

Her left arm draped over her bent knee, Annalyn pondered her future with a heavy heart. He dropped his hand. "My home is a humble dwelling, not very large," she explained. "And yet, without my kin, it will feel all too vast and empty, I am sure… As I sit here now, I miss my home, it is true. But even once I arrive, I think I shall miss it all the more, longing for the way it used to be."

A shadow of understanding took shape in his eyes. But then, being an immortal Elf, Haldir was no stranger to loss and change.

She went on. "My kin are gone. I do not accept it. I never will. But time will go on, and I…" Another breath and she cemented her resolve. "I cannot honour their lives if I do not live mine." Imagining possible outcomes for the future, she felt her mouth curve in a wistful smile, for a tiny flame had kindled in her heart, a flickering candle of hope perhaps. "'Make the best of it', as some might say."

His features revealing little, Haldir gave a nod at that.

She said, "Which brings us to the decision at hand… We are courting, yes. But where that will lead us, I do not know. I must return home, as you know. I must tell Erna of Aldin's passing. But after…"

When it became clear that Haldir wished for her to go first, Annalyn regarded him somberly. "You now know how I feel. You know that I am in love with you… But if I am being truthful, my heart and my head are telling me two things."

Because they had much to sort through, and little time to do it in, Annalyn decided to get to the heart of the matter, even if it hurt to say it. "I will not always be young, Haldir. I will be eight-and-twenty in less than a month. Not quite old, I admit, but there are some amongst my people who feel that I am not so young anymore, that I should have wed a decade ago, like most women of the Westfold do. But while I do not regret my life choices, the truth remains that I am nearing thirty. And as young as I still feel, youth is a fleeting thing for the race of Men."

At his continuing silence, Annalyn picked at the worn fabric of her trousers. "I am not one of the Dúnedain. I will not be blessed with long life. The best I can hope for is several more decades at the most, much of it spent with aging features and greying hair." A heavy pause. She had to ask, "It seems hardly fair to you. Could you live with that?"

"You speak as if I do not know this."

"Knowing it and living it are two different things, Haldir."

In sudden need of space to think, Annalyn gained her feet, and started weaving her way between the encircling trees, while Haldir remained where he was. Long moments passed. As the debate raged on in her head, he eventually rose from where he had been lounging, and began matching her languid pace, but at a slight distance.

Separated by a long, curving line of _mallyrn_ , the two continued around the circle, going from tree to tree, until Annalyn broke her silence. "We cannot change who we are. I will grow old and I will die." Her words would be a knife to his heart, she knew. Yet they needed to be said. "These past few nights, I have often thought of us as we might be some day. You, ageless and unchanging. And I..." Her voice faltered as her mind supplied an image of him, fair and grieving, before an old crone.

Haldir concealed his distress by looking away.

"Would it not be absurd?" she pressed as he came to a halt. She waited. "Must you be so silent? Are you not debating this as well?"

At last, he looked to her. "I am," was his answer. "But for me it is not the same."

"How do you mean?"

Haldir appeared to weigh his words, and seemed ready to tell her when his horse walked up to him, interrupting their conversation with a gentle push of his muzzle. Before Haldir could meet her eyes again, she was already walking away, leaving the circle of trees for the reason that she couldn't breathe.

Out in the surrounding meadow, Annalyn pressed the heels of her hands to her eye-sockets. _How are we supposed to do this?_

With a few deep breaths, she willed her confused heart to slow. Knowing she should go back to resume their conversation, Annalyn gathered herself enough to turn around. But, bless him, he was already there, standing but a few paces from her, his solemn gaze searching her face as he finally narrowed the gap. "What is it you want, Annalyn?" He drew nearer still. "Tell me. I must know."

Tilting her head to catch his eyes, she said, "I want the impossible. I want to love you without hurting you." When his strong arms closed about her shoulders, Annalyn offered no resistance. She was tired. She was sad and angry. She loved him so much it hurt.

"Why me?" she whispered against his steady heart. "Why did you have to fall in love with me?"

"Believe me, I tried very hard not to."

Even without looking, Annalyn knew he was smiling. Damn him. And damn her for smiling, too.

As a gentle wind swirled around them, she swatted his chest, and laughed despite her tears. "Stop. This is no laughing matter."

"You are right, _firiel_ , it is not." As mirth yielded to solemn earnestness, he drew back to meet her gaze. "But I would have you nonetheless, _meleth nîn_."

Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, Annalyn absorbed his quiet declaration with closing eyes. _Meleth nîn_ —my love.

So overcome was she, it was a moment before she could lift her eyes again.

"Indeed, it is my choice," he murmured. "But I will not force it upon you nor would I guilt you into choosing a life by my side." When Haldir eased away, caressing her cheek before he turned and made for the spot where he had left his belongings, Annalyn understood that he was giving her the time she needed.

 _The patience of Elves_ , she mused and loved him all the more.

Unable and unwilling to stay away, Annalyn followed after him, and when he laid upon the grass to stare up at the clouds, she cast herself down next to him. Side by side, their hands linked between them, the two drifted on their own thoughts for a while.

Stealing a glance, Annalyn had to own that Haldir would be a good husband. In fact, she knew it without a doubt. Loyal and devoted, he would love her until the day she died, and beyond. But the "beyond" troubled her greatly. How long would he grieve? From what she now knew of the Elves, it would be a long time to be sure. _Too long_ , her conscience chimed in, stirring her doubts once more.

* * *

"I am sorry."

Her murmured words reached him as the sun began its slow descent.

Puzzled and slightly alarmed by her apology, Haldir looked sidelong at her. Normally, Annalyn was an open book to him—her emotions playing over her features like patchy sunlight on a meadow—but in this moment, as her eyes skimmed the cerulean sky, Haldir found he could not read her face. As he waited, he wondered if she might be rejecting him, thinking it was best.

Instead, she said, "Earlier, I spoke as if I saw no hope for us. But if such was the case…" A trembling breath, then she looked to him. "If such was the case, I would not be here. I would have left."

Moved and greatly relieved by the hope in her words, Haldir gave a heartfelt squeeze to her fingers, his thumb tracing loving patterns on her hand.

She did not know it, but today was entirely for her, so that she might find the truth in her own heart. Because, for his part, the choice was already made. And his choice was her.

A fortnight ago, prior to leaving for the fences, Haldir had expressed a desire to speak with her. " _There is something we should discuss, something that I feel you should know._ "

His _fae_ had chosen. Regardless of where they went from here, Haldir would love her for all time. But now that they were here, pondering their futures beneath peaceful skies, something held him back. His conscience perhaps, for though Annalyn was independent by nature, she was also altruistic. What if she were to put his needs above her own? If she knew the true depth of his feelings for her, he feared she might choose him more for his sake than her own, to give him joy before his heart broke forever.

Haldir did not want that. He couldn't bear it. He would rather fade and die than to constrain or cage her into a life she might not choose for herself.

No, if she truly wanted a life by his side, it had to come from the desires of her own heart. If his hopes came to fruition and she chose him, then yes, he would tell her. But not before. It wouldn't be right.

Besides, there were other things to discuss, and the time was now.

"Annalyn?"

Her head pivoted on the grass.

"Would you be happy here?" he asked. "In Caras Galadhon, amongst the Elves."

"Could it ever feel like home, you mean?"

Haldir gave a nod.

Annalyn turned onto her side to face him. With her head propped on her palm, she watched as he faced her, too. "If travelling with my kin has taught me one thing," she said, "it is that home can be many things. It can be a feeling, a moment, time spent with those whom we love."

Haldir's heart lifted. Still, he waited.

She went on. "Earlier, when I spoke of my kin, I said that the only way to honour their lives was to live my own. To that I hold. But Haldir, if we do this… I would not have you mourn my loss for years unnumbered."

Regret besieged him. "Annalyn, I—"

"No, let me finish. I will not always be here. If we join our lives, I would not have you linger in unending grief after I have gone." Her hand found his heart. He covered it with his own. "In fact, my most cherished hope would be for you to live your life and find joy again." Her gaze fell away from his, and her brows creased in a slight frown. "In the arms of another if need be."

But Haldir was shaking his head, his heart and _fae_ rebelling against the idea. He was an Elf. She couldn't know what she was asking, the impossibility of it. "What you are asking—"

But Annalyn shushed him by placing a finger to his lips. "Think on it… Or at the very least try."

Haldir blinked.

Never in his long life had anyone ever silenced him in such a fashion. Shocked and speechless, all he could do was stare. Despite the seriousness of their discussion, it was an effort not to laugh. _She dares silence me with a finger?_

Though honestly, it should come as no surprise. Annalyn was impulsive at times, and could be rather bold when she wanted to be. _Mortals_ , he thought with sudden fondness. How his opinion of them had changed.

Thinking he might be able to make her squirm, Haldir arched a brow and pinned her with a stare, silently challenging her until a fierce blush came to paint her cheeks. She lowered her finger. Now he allowed a smirk. "You are quite brazen, do you know?"

"Is that such a bad thing?"

He felt his features soften. "Nay."

Haldir might have kissed her then, and would have continued their discussion, but Cobalt was drawing near, interrupting the moment by snorting and stamping his hooves on the grass.

"What is it, friend?" Annalyn asked the animal then looked to Haldir to provide the answer.

" _Ídhrog nên?_ " Haldir asked, thinking the animal might desire water. A soft snort from Cobalt told him he had guessed rightly. "It would seem our friend wishes to quench his thirst."

And so they gained their feet in the light of the westering sun. After gathering their things, the two mounted their horses and made for the nearest water source. There, by a shimmering stream bordered by tall grass, Haldir and Annalyn talked about nothing and everything, little things that made her laugh. How he loved that laugh, how beautiful and unrestrained it was.

Unless his eyes were cheated by hope, it seemed to him that she was more at ease than she had been before. Her eyes, when she looked to him, gleamed with warmth and joy.

Glad as he was to see it, Haldir was preoccupied with their earlier exchange, how she wanted him to move on after she had gone. Of course, he had to tell her that such a thing was impossible. His fate, in that sense, was already sealed. He would grieve for her regardless, and would never love another. But would her loss mean his doom?

As Annalyn walked alongside her horse, Haldir watched her for a moment. In his mind, he recalled a recent conversation he had had with Orophin, as the two were standing watch one night. " _You are strong, Haldir_ ," his brother had said to him then, " _stronger than anyone I know_."

By these words, Orophin had conveyed his belief that he could weather this. That he would be strong enough to endure Annalyn's death and keep on living. Was he right, though?

Thinking back to what Annalyn had said earlier, that the only way to honour her kin was to live her life and keep on going, Haldir knew that he would have to try. For her. Before he could voice any of this, however, Annalyn halted so he might catch up. There seemed to be a question in her eyes.

"You wish to ask me something," he guessed, and saw the shyness on her face.

With lead in hand, Haldir guided his horse forward, and came to stand beside Annalyn, who said, "I was just thinking of all I learned last night, about your ways. It made me realise how little I know of your people."

"If you harbour questions, please give voice to them. In fact, I insist."

Her features stained with the light of the setting sun, Annalyn looked to the western horizon, and cleared her throat. "Theoretically speaking, when one marries an Elf…"

His heart sped up at her words, yet he waited for her to say more.

"When Elves marry," she started again, and looked to him. "Do they have an actual ceremony?" Her eyes lowered, the barest hint of a smile coming to paint her blushing face. "Or do they just…"

… _make love_ , he silently finished for her.

A knowing smile found its way to his mouth. Softly, he said, "You need not be embarrassed. I shall explain."

Seemingly heartened by his words, Annalyn looked up into his eyes.

"Elves can marry while on the run or in exile. At all times, it is lawful for us to wed without ceremony or witness, in the manner I explained last night. But generally speaking, there is a ceremony, yes. More than one, in fact."

"More than one?"

"It begins with a betrothal," Haldir went on to say. "When Elves decide that they are going to marry, their families gather for a betrothal feast, during which silver rings are exchanged."

With little more than a foot between them, he continued. "To make certain they are meant to marry, the pair usually allows a full year to pass. In the event that they decide not to wed, the _ellon_ and _elleth_ return their silver rings publicly, melting them so none can ever wear them again."

"That is quite profound."

"It is. Rarely does this happen, however _,"_ Haldir said. "I, myself, have never seen it done."

"What about weddings, then?"

They were standing closer now.

Haldir continued, "When the time arrives, an even greater feast is held. At some point during the feast, the couple joins hands and goes to a place where all can see them _._ " A sadness fell over him then. He explained why. "It is then that the mother of the bride and the father of the bridegroom come forward to bless their union, naming Manwë and Varda as witnesses. The name of Eru Ilúvatar is also spoken _._ "

Since neither of them had living parents to fulfill that role, it was now clear that such a ceremony would be impossible for them. At the very least, it would have to be altered, should they eventually choose to marry.

"With the blessing concluded, the _ellon_ and _elleth_ return the silver rings of their betrothal, before gifting one another with gold rings, which are worn on the index finger _."_ With that, he presented his right hand, holding it aloft in the narrow space between them. Her eyes darting to the spot where his ring would go, Annalyn's breath caught with sudden understanding. What was once an unattainable future could very well be theirs, if they chose to seize it.

"What of your people?" Haldir inquired, turning the tables on her. "How does one marry a woman of the Riddermark?"

"Well…" Annalyn swallowed, her words nigh breathless when she said, "I suppose it begins with the giving of gifts, which the man presents to the maid's father." A veil of sorrow descended upon her features, for she had no kin to speak of. Nevertheless, she went on, her face warming once more. "Customarily, the gifts are placed before the father's home sometime during the night. If the gifts are accepted, the couple may then plight their troth before their friends and kin in the mead-hall. As for the ceremony itself, it is a simple exchange, a promise to honour the other until they are parted by death. Then, as is oft the case in my homeland, the people feast and drink for the remainder of the night."

"Your people have spirited traditions."

Annalyn's smile broadened at that. But with the absence of her kin clearly weighing on her heart, she soon trained her eyes toward the city. "Day is waning. Perhaps we should head back."

"You have much to do tomorrow. I suppose I should walk you home so that you might rest."

Annalyn chuckled, erasing his regret when she said, "No. You mistake my intent. I have no desire to rest."

With narrowing eyes, Haldir wondered what she meant by that. But Annalyn was already mounting her horse. "Are you coming?" she called over her shoulder.

There was no need to ask him twice.

* * *

* _Ídhrog nên? – "Do you want water?"_

* * *

 


	52. A Great Honour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, I didn't think I would be able to update so soon. But we got hit by a storm and I got snowed in. Yay for unexpected writing time. I hope this reads okay.
> 
> As always, I would like to thank all my readers and reviewers. Your continued interest has meant the world to me.

**CHAPTER LII**

**A GREAT HONOUR**

Annalyn couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when she had chosen, when her heart had decided that this place, and the Elf who now walked to her right would, in fact, become her home. A second home, much different from her homeland and kin, but just as dear to her heart.

Perhaps her decision had fallen into place during their debate earlier today, when each had bared their thoughts regarding where they might go from here. Or then maybe a part of her had known all along. Haldir was the man—the Elf—for her. And after her trip to the Riddermark, Annalyn meant to return to him. To love and hopefully marry him, if such was his wish—which it certainly seemed to be, if his earlier declaration was any indication. " _I would have you nonetheless, meleth nîn_."

In addition to revealing the true extent of his feelings, his words had conveyed that he would not have her journey all the way to Rohan and back just to toy with her heart. No. A tentative courtship this was not.

Against all hope, and perhaps in counter to what was wise, this honourable, intense, and immortal being was willing to give his heart to her, a mortal.

For Annalyn, the idea that they might soon bind their lives was incredibly humbling. Her thoughts turning to the nature of what they both were, she reasoned that if Eru—the One whom the Elves called Ilúvatar—had not intended for his Children to love one another, he would not have fashioned them in such a similar image.

With enough strength and courage, the two of them could do this. It was her hope, the belief she would cling to henceforth.

Growing up in the Mark, Annalyn had been raised to believe that life was governed by fate and doom. But what was fate, if not for Eru's will? The Eorlingas believed in the afterlife, but they also believed in glory and remembrance. And though glory had never been Annalyn's aim, just knowing that Haldir would remember her, that he might speak her name in fondness long after she had gone, was comforting in a way. And yet it was most conflicting, too.

Indeed, her most fervent wish was for him to go on after her death, to find joy again and _live_. Annalyn had told him so today, and though he had bristled, she believed he was willing to try. That, too, had helped in tipping the scales.

At peace with her thoughts, Annalyn proceeded toward the City of the Trees, her pace a perfect match to Haldir's leisurely steps.

Dusk was now falling, and the lamps adorning the gates were already kindled. Except for the soft whisper of her own footfalls, the air was altogether silent, as it often was in the moments before the first stars appeared. Indeed, an even deeper sense of peace had descended upon the Naith, and soon music would fill the air, first with the hymn to Varda, then many other songs. It should not be long now, Annalyn mused then cast another sideways glance at Haldir.

Eddying on his own thoughts, he had not spoken since they had left the horses at the stables, but his silence was neither cold nor distant tonight. In fact, his noble features were soft and devoid of cares for once, and his mouth was curved in a rare, lingering smile.

 _Does he know?_ she couldn't help but wonder as the silent gates opened before them. _Does he sense my choice?_ For Annalyn had yet to tell him, had thought to wait until they were ensconced in the home that might soon be theirs. Haldir had yet to invite her, it was true. But since they both desired to spend the remainder of the evening together, it seemed likely they would end up there. Indeed, it was her hope, for tomorrow would be devoted to last-minute preparations for her long travels ahead.

Thinking of her upcoming journey, Annalyn tallied the distance from here to her village. With a fortnight between here and the Entwash, then an additional ten days to reach her home, it could take over two months before she returned to Lothlórien and saw Haldir again. While it might be a mere blink for an immortal such as him, Annalyn did not possess the patience of Elves. Those weeks would be a time without end for her.

Unable to help herself, Annalyn drank in the sight of Haldir, her chest growing heavier with every step. His bearing was proud, his gait calm yet powerful. Just being next to him was an almost sensual experience.

Her heart sped up. She had to look away.

But Haldir was nothing if not discerning. As they ambled along, he looked sidelong at her. Doubtless, he would note her blush. He might even hear her racing heart. To be sure, he heard the sudden growl that emanated from her traitorous stomach. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and calm, his eyes even more so. "You must be hungry. We can stop by the kitchens if you wish."

"I would like that," Annalyn answered shyly, smothering her desire to be alone with him for the reason that he was right. They had not eaten since earlier that afternoon, and she was famished.

His home tree now came into view. They were about to scale the stairs leading up to the terrace when an echoing whistle netted their attention, and caused them to stop.

"What was that?" Annalyn asked and tipped her head toward the boughs. "It came from up there. Someone whistled."

Haldir seemed as perplexed as she was. But then, comprehension—or suspicion—seemed to dawn on his features. "A whistle you say?" Now he feigned ignorance. "Curious. I heard no such thing."

A smirk tugged at her mouth. _Liar_ , she thought and glanced up the stairs before looking to Haldir one last time. _Fine, then. I will see for myself_.

So it was that Annalyn scaled the stairs. The higher she climbed, the more she noted a change in the ambient lighting above. Instead of the bluish glow of the lamps, the mallorn's mighty bole was tinged in warm orange light. When the terrace finally came into view, Annalyn realised why that was.

Braziers, several of them, spaced around the terrace, much like the braziers in a mead-hall. In the midst of these was the communal dining table, laden with food and drink. And finally, just off to the side, were a dozen smiling faces. Ithriel, Ninael, and Glirwen, just to name a few.

Some were acquaintances, Elves she sometimes dined with on the terrace. The rest were her dear friends.

"Here she is!" Recognizing the jovial voice, Annalyn turned in time to see Taerion sliding down a low-hanging tree-limb. Beaming, he dangled in the air for a moment before his booted foot touched upon the balustrade. Doubtless, it was he who had whistled so as to warn the others of her arrival.

"Our guest of honour," Bestedir said to Annalyn as his wife inclined her head in welcome.

"What's all this?" she had to ask.

"Do you not know?" Ithriel countered warmly.

By now, it was clear what this was. Moved beyond words, Annalyn beheld the terrace and all those assembled before turning to Haldir who clearly hadn't known—at least not until he had heard the whistle and figured it out.

As the decorative flames danced in the evening breeze, Ithriel stepped forward. "Since you are leaving for Rohan on the day after next, we thought it was high time we honoured you, not only as a cherished guest, but as a beloved friend. Tonight is for you, Annalyn."

Now it was Ninael's turn to step forth. "And given how far you are from the Riddermark, we thought we would bring the Riddermark to you." Stopping by a large cask, the soldier leaned against it, and nudged her head as if to say, " _What do you think?_ "

"Is that mead?"

Ninael patted the cask with pride. "Same as they serve in Edoras."

Laughing through gathering tears, Annalyn placed a hand over her heart. Her eyes went to the other Elves: Tellil, the chamber maid, Lanthir, the minstrel who happily graced them with his voice every night after dinner, Taerion and a few others. "I know not what to say… Thank you… All of you."

And so they gathered for the meal. Once Haldir had removed his bow and quiver, setting them to the side, he gallantly pulled out Annalyn's chair, before rounding the table so they might sit across from each other. He was laying a napkin across his lap when their eyes met in a silent exchange. " _After_ ," he seemed to promise with dancing eyes.

Her insides awhirl with anticipation and longing, she agreed with a secretive nod. _After_.

As dishes were uncovered, Annalyn looked them over, and quickly realised something. "I know these recipes." There was chicken stew, vegetable pie, roasted pork, and sliced potatoes. These were hearty meals, delicious and soothing, but very unlike those usually served by the Elves.

"I hope we have done them justice," Glirwen said from further down the table. "Bestedir and I know little of your homeland and the foods you favour. But Ninael has travelled to Rohan in the past, and she has feasted with your kings of old. Without her guidance, I fear we would not have known where to begin."

"It is perfect," Annalyn told them, then smiled at Ninael who tipped her glass.

In all the time she had spent in Lothlórien, Annalyn had seen and experienced many remarkable things. But this… This was perhaps the most touching of all.

As Annalyn partook in the feast, a profound sense of comfort washed over her. This place had truly become a home away from home, and these Elves had earned their rightful place in her heart.

After the wine, it wasn't long before mead was poured. "Ninael, you spoke truly. This is a taste of home. Wherever did you get it?"

"One of my soldier friends dabbles in the making of spirits and mead in his spare time. He owed me a favour."

"Please extend my compliments. He is gifted in his craft."

Ninael speared another morsel of food. "I will tell him you said so."

Her cup halfway to her lips, Annalyn couldn't help thinking of her uncle and cousin. _They would have loved this_. Keenly aware of their absence, she wished they could have been here tonight. To be sure, they would have marvelled at this place. And like her, they would have grown fond of these Elves. Of this she had no doubt.

Lifting her gaze, Annalyn saw that Haldir was watching her, the look on his face suggesting that he sensed her musings. With a sad smile, he lifted his cup in a secret toast, which she returned bittersweetly as laughter and conversation went on around them.

Dessert had been served, and now the empty plates were being cleared away. The evening, however, was not yet over, for Taerion soon rose, and approached her with a gift. His sketch book. "So you might remember fair Lothlórien," he explained, and held it out for her to take.

Of course, he did not yet know of her decision to return. No one did. And though she wished she could tell him, Annalyn first had to tell Haldir—and she would, later tonight. Her throat clogged with emotion, Annalyn swept a hand over the book's leather spine. "I shall treasure your gift in my heart. Thank you."

The young Elf bowed in Elf-fashion, and replied with heartfelt words of his own. "And I shall treasure the memory of our friendship." Again, her heart twisted with the desire to soothe her friend's sadness. As Taerion returned to his chair, Annalyn's gaze went to Haldir who was still watching her from behind his glass, his features softened by candlelight.

As their visual connection held, Annalyn could scarce believe how profoundly her life had changed of late. After all she had suffered, and all she had lost, she had somehow found her way to this place, to Haldir whom she loved. Perhaps by wandering in this forest and meeting him, fate had made it so she wouldn't be alone in the world. It was a comforting thought.

On either side of them, Elves were now leaving the table, and moving to choose their spots in an informal circle of chairs in a cozy corner of the terrace. Since this was a nightly ritual, Annalyn understood that it was time for the telling of tales.

"I suppose we should join them," Haldir stated softly. As he gained his feet, yearning tugged at her heart again, and she secretly wished they could slip away, just the two of them. Knowing it would be discourteous, however, Annalyn swallowed her impatience, and followed so they might listen to the evening's stories for a while.

Usually, the honour fell to Bestedir, for he loved story-telling nearly as much as he loved preparing their meals. But tonight, instead of standing before all those gathered, he took a seat next to his wife and appeared to be waiting. For what, she did not know.

Curious, Annalyn looked to Ithriel. With a wave of her hand, the healer patted the vacant chairs to her left. "You both can sit with me." Her straight hair was completely unbound tonight, and it framed her smiling face. So full of joy, Annalyn thought then realised they might soon be sisters. She had never had a sister before. It would be nice.

Once she had lowered herself in the chair, Annalyn leaned toward Ithriel to whisper, "Who is the night's story-teller? Do you know?"

But Ithriel only smiled, as did all the Elves. "Tonight, we thought…" The healer cleared her throat. "I mean it was our hope that… you might accept the honour?"

The blood drained from Annalyn's face. "Me?"

"Surely you know tales we do not," Glirwen interjected in Sindarin. "It would please us to hear one."

Unprepared for such a request, Annalyn blew out a breath, and rubbed the back of her neck. "It is long since I tried. My cousin Aldin was always better suited at telling stories."

"But you remember them, yes?" Glirwen asked with hope.

"I remember them," Annalyn conceded. Perhaps it was due to the rich oral traditions of the Eorlingas, but she had always been good at remembering stories and songs. But remembering was not the same as spinning a full tale. Indeed, there was a skill to it, one she had never honed. Moreover, Glirwen, Bestedir, and most of the others understood no language other than their own. Even if Annalyn's knowledge of Sindarin had improved by leaps and bounds of late, she spoke haltingly most of the time, and often made mistakes.

Even so, the Elves had done much to honour her tonight. Potential embarrassment aside, the least she could do was try to honour them in turn. And so, bolstered by Haldir's subtle yet encouraging nod, Annalyn searched her memories until she settled on a story—a favourite of Aldin's. Then, she gained her feet and faced her friends.

_Here goes…_

"Tonight's story begins ere the founding of Rohan… with the man who sired our first King. Léod was the leader…" Her mouth went dry all of a sudden. "He was the leader of the people called the Éothéod… who lived..." _For pity's sake, Annalyn!_ Sindarin and Westron and Rohirric—her nervousness was such that the words to the story had become a jumbled mess in her mind, impeding her ability to translate with fluidity. _I sound like a witless fool._

With a wicked blush rising to her cheeks, Annalyn wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her breeches, and looked to Haldir in hopes that he might be able to translate. He must have divined her thoughts—that or he had seen them writ on her panicked face—for he had already risen and was making his way over.

As he came to stand at her side, facing those assembled, Haldir beheld their friends. And then he spoke in smooth Sindarin. "The Éothéod were among those Northmen who dwelt in the Vales of Anduin between the Carrock and Gladden."

Annalyn scarce believed it. Not only had he jumped in of his own accord, saving her from further embarrassment, but Haldir had expanded on the story, telling it in much the same way Aldin had done on their second night in the Golden Wood—except he was doing so in the elven-tongue. Touched that he remembered it so well, she watched him with gratitude until he sought her eyes, nodding, as if to remind her, " _You know this story_."

Annalyn raised her chin. She did know the story, having heard it countless times. Finding her courage at long last, she was about to tell it in Westron when a most startling thing happened. Haldir lowered his voice a little, and addressed her… in Rohirric. "You may tell the story in your mother-tongue, if you wish. In fact, I would love it if you did."

Annalyn's mouth was agape. Never had he spoken the language in her presence; he had been far too embarrassed. Nevertheless, in spite of his discomfiture—which he hid rather well—Haldir had done so now, in front of everyone. Annalyn had never felt so honoured in her entire life.

"I would like that," she answered softly. And so, with renewed confidence, she turned to the Elves again, and resumed the story in her own language. "A strong and fair race, the Éothéod were great horsemen and men-at-arms." Annalyn had not realised, until then, just how much she had missed speaking in her native language. As harsh as it might sound to outsiders, the words were like honey on her tongue, carrying her back to those nightly campfires with her kin, with Abrax, Heremod, and Cobalt resting nearby. How sad that it was just her and Cobalt now.

"Their leader, Léod, was a tamer of horses. When his son, Eorl, was six and ten, Léod stumbled upon a wild horse, the likes of which he had never seen. Silver-grey, the horse was a descendent of the magical race that Béma—the Vala whom you call Oromë—brought out of the West long ages ago."

Pausing to give Haldir time to translate, Annalyn noted that the Elves were spellbound, their smiles broadening at the mention of Oromë.

"But the silver horse was proud and willful, and Léod was killed while trying to tame it," she went on to say. "For this, the horse was called Mansbane."

When Haldir translated that last part, the Elves grew more subdued. As he fell silent, Annalyn moved ahead with her tale. "Seeking vengeance, a grieving Eorl hunted the horse but, rather than kill him, decided he would tame the horse so that the beast might serve him, surrendering his freedom as a Weregild. But to Eorl's astonishment, there was no need to tame the horse, for Mansbane harboured great remorse over the slaying of Léod, and therefore surrendered of his own free will, as a gesture of atonement."

Haldir picked up the thread again, then it was her turn. "On that day, Eorl—who would later become the first King of Rohan—renamed him Felaróf, meaning 'father of Horses'." With a swell of pride at her heritage, Annalyn straightened to full height. "From that day forth, the Éothéod became known as the Rohirrim, the 'horse lords', and our banner now bears the image of Felaróf running on a green field." A warm smile broke through. "From him were descended the Mearas, the proud steeds who bear none but the Kings of the Mark."

Once Haldir had translated, the Elves turned their eager gazes on Annalyn.

"Have you ever seen one?" Ithriel asked in Westron.

"Fortunate are those who get to see the Mearas. Alas… I, myself, have never beheld one." A light shrug and she added. "Perhaps one day."

With the story now concluded, Annalyn sent her thoughts to her cousin. _I did it, Aldin_. Wherever his spirit had gone, she imagined he was smiling down on her, with that glimmer in his brown eyes. She could practically hear him say, " _That was not so hard now, was it?_ " To which she would have replied, laughing. " _Oh, shut up_."

How she missed him.

Turning her focus to Haldir, Annalyn flashed a smile, and addressed him in Rohirric. "You," she began, pointing for emphasis, "are much too hard on yourself. You spoke beautifully."

If Haldir had been prone to blushing, his cheeks might have turned red at the praise. As it was, he led her back to their seats, where he reached for his cup of mead—that he had previously set by his chair—and gave a self-effacing smile. "I spoke very little."

 _The pride of Elves_ , she thought, not bothering to hide her amusement. She even rolled her eyes.

"That was superb!" she heard Ithriel say. Seated next to Annalyn, the healer leaned forth to better see her husband's brother. "Was she not wonderful, Haldir?"

"That she was," he replied softly, his eyes brimming with admiration as he watched Annalyn.

Thus the evening progressed. Since Annalyn had chosen to regale with a story about the origins of her people, Bestedir opted to do the same. But the account he told was far older, dating all the way back to the First Age, when the earth was veiled in perpetual night.

As the guests hung on to his every word, he spoke of the Awakening of the Elves, by the mere of Cuiviénen, in a land far away in the East. "Their eyes beheld first the light of the stars, which were kindled by Varda, whom we call Elentári," Bestedir went on to say. "When the light entered their eyes, it was held there, so that ever after it shone from those eyes."

Enthralled, Annalyn listened as he told of the coming of Oromë whom the Elves feared at first, but soon grew to trust.

"Nahar was his horse, and the Valaróma was his horn, the sound of which was a terror to the servants of Morgoth," Bestedir said, then went on to describe the summons that led to the Great Journey. "Fearing for the Elves, the Valar prepared a place for them beyond the seas of the West. Eldamar it is called, and it means 'elven home'."

As riveting as it was, Bestedir's story struck a note of sadness in her, for Annalyn now knew of Aman, and the foretold fate of the Elves who were not meant to live in Middle-earth forever. Sending her gaze to Haldir, she wondered as to his thoughts. But his features were shuttered, and he was staring at his drink.

Bestedir continued, "Although some of the Elves refused the summons, those who made the journey proceeded to build cities whose beauty is reportedly beyond compare. Indeed, it is said that their towers are domed with silver, their streets paved with gold, and that great stairs of crystal can be seen shining from a great distance." As he spoke, describing hallowed lands bordered by sandy shores, none could miss the longing that arose in his eyes.

As the story finally reached its end, Haldir downed the rest of his mead in one go. As some of the Elves gained their feet, he asked Annalyn if she wanted a refill.

"Thank you, but I think I have had enough." Concerned, she watched as he headed for the cask, his posture more rigid than before.

"He sometimes gets like this when others speak of Aman," Ithriel confided in hushed tones. "Give him a moment; he will be alright."

Even so, Annalyn's heart ached as she watched him from afar. Thankfully, as Ithriel had predicted, a change gradually came over him. As Haldir beheld the surrounding _mallyrn_ , he seemed to draw strength from them. Before long, he looked over his shoulder at her, with nothing but warmth in his eyes.

"You both seem happy," Ithriel remarked as Annalyn returned his smile. "It gladdens me, for it is something I never thought I would witness in him. I see the way he looks at you. I daresay we all can. He loves you. And you love him in turn." A beat went by. "Have you both come to a decision?"

Finally tearing her eyes away from her beloved, Annalyn regarded her dearest friend.

"Will we see you again?" Ithriel asked with guarded hope. "Will you return to Lothlórien someday?"

With nothing but love in her heart, Annalyn's gaze slid over to Haldir who had turned to stare at the city again, his hands resting on the balustrade. "I just might."

"I have kept you long enough. You should go to him." The sparkle in Ithriel's eyes was unmistakable. "Tomorrow we shall speak, yes?"

"Definitely."

Smoothing a hand over the front of her vest, Annalyn excused herself, then brought her empty cup to the serving cart outside the kitchens. Her eyes scarcely leaving the warrior who had earned her heart, she waited to see if he would sense her gaze. He did. Looking over his shoulder, Haldir locked eyes with her from afar.

With a thousand butterflies in her belly, Annalyn clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, and glanced ever so briefly at the spiral staircase. It was terribly bold of her—and maybe the mead was partly to blame—but she couldn't wait anymore. She had to be alone with him. She had to tell him of her choice.

Hoping he would recognize her invitation, Annalyn maintained the visual connection and started walking. At first, he observed her with an unspoken question, but then his gaze darkened.

He was slowly setting his cup down, abandoning it on the edge of the balustrade. When Haldir reached for his quiver, donning it without a word before he slung his bow upon his back, Annalyn could tell that he understood. Even more thrilling, she knew he would follow.

With a nervous sort of excitement, she slipped away, and dared not look back until the curving staircase had carried her around the bole, safely out of view of the terrace.

There, she waited with a quickening heart. Until, at long last, she saw him.

His eyes were on her at once.

Her palm coming to rest on the mallorn's silver bark, Annalyn watched as he scaled the steps. By the time he finally reached her, her heart was beating so fast, it was a wonder it didn't burst from her chest.

She and Haldir were standing on the same step now, not far from where they had shared that fervent kiss a few weeks ago. If she didn't kiss him soon…

By the way Haldir was now staring at her mouth, it was clear he was thinking along the same lines. Yet something seemed to hold him back. Self-control perhaps.

"I wished to be alone with you," she said by way of explanation. "Is that selfish of me?"

His voice was strained. "Nay."

Anxious and excited all at once, Annalyn issued a wordless challenge. Her back met the mallorn. She waited. The next move was his.

He made it without hesitation.

Haldir bent his head toward her. Instead of kissing her mouth, however, he turned her knees to water by pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of her jaw, another on the pulse-point of her neck.

Annalyn melted into the mallorn. His hands found her waist, his breath tickling the shell of her ear as he said, "Maddening woman."

Arching into him, she revelled in the firm press of his body, and countered with breathless words of her own. "Maddening Elf."

Haldir was now kissing his way toward her mouth. _At last_.

But then, to her dismay, he suddenly grew still, and drew back a little, as though he had heard something.

"What is it?" she whispered, then heard it, too. Clear voices and laughter, from somewhere nearby. Following the sound, Annalyn saw that some of their friends had left the terrace and were now ascending the neighbouring tree.

Embarrassed yet glad they hadn't been seen, Annalyn covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, while Haldir grabbed her hand. "Come," he said.

Ascending to the very top of the stairs, they set out across the footbridge leading to his home. "Wait, I forgot Taerion's sketch book."

"You need not worry. No one will think of stealing it." Doubtless, he was right.

To her surprise, Haldir did not lead her to the door. Rather, he guided her along the front of his home. "Where are we going?" she asked.

He only looked to her, his features bearing the barest hint of a smile, the kind that touched her heart and made her feel incredibly special.

At last, they reached the very edge of his _talan_ , where he stepped off the flet, onto a broad tree-limb. Hand still linked with hers, Haldir turned to face her.

Eyes wide, heart pounding, Annalyn looked to him and laughed. It was a nervous laugh. But there was delight also.

He grasped her other hand so she wouldn't fall. "Do you trust me?"

What sort of question was this? "Always."

And so Haldir beckoned her onto the tree-limb. With graceful balance, he stepped slightly to the side, so she might go first. Then, holding both of her hands, he guided her along the tree-limb, one careful step at a time.

"This is madness!" Annalyn was still laughing. She should have been terrified—and perhaps she was—but she also knew he would never allow her to fall.

At length, they reached a spot where the tree-limb met another one, somewhere in the heart of the mallorn. Here dangled a ladder made of silver rope. Reaching for it, Haldir gestured for her to climb first. Her cheeks flushing with exhilaration and something else, she looked to him, and did as he wished.

The tree was tall. Taller than its neighbours. Upon reaching the very top of the ladder, Annalyn emerged onto a leaf-shaped platform that was slightly higher than the surrounding trees.

Caras Galadhon… it was even more beautiful from up here, a sea of leaves lit from within. And the stars… They were spread in a vast canvas of gems, unobstructed by the boughs.

"Haldir…" She could scarcely find her voice.

Turning, she saw him pull the ladder. Once it was pooled by the opening, Haldir straightened, and proceeded to remove his weapons, setting them off to the side. "Is it to your liking?"

A broadening smile as her answer, she looked all around, while his feet ferried him to a narrow cupboard nestled in a fork of branches. Opening it, he produced two bundles. Furs, she realised, then watched as he laid one of them down, making a comfortable place to sit.

 _Leave it to Haldir_. Warmth burgeoning in her being, she removed her sword-belt, laying it beside his own as he proceeded to secure a wind-screen on one side of the platform.

"The air can be somewhat cool up here," he told her when he finally sat down next to her. Unrolling the remaining bundle, Haldir draped the pelt over her shoulders, asked, "How is that?"

"It is perfect, thank you." Glancing about them, she shook her head in amazement. "Your own little refuge..." Annalyn chuckled. "This is remarkable. Ridiculously elevated," she added, "but enchanting."

Haldir responded by curving his mouth and looking out. He had stretched his legs, and was leaning on his elbow. "I thought you might like it."

Her smile fading, Annalyn watched his profile for a moment longer, then quietly reached for his hand.

When he met her eyes, she said, "Today, you asked me what it is I wanted… I think I have my answer." Actually, she didn't just "think", she _knew_.

"My answer is… this." When he failed to grasp her full meaning, she motioned to the city below. " _This_ is what I want. A home amongst friends… A life with you."

It was a moment before Haldir absorbed her words. In silence, he blinked an extended blink, then his chin dipped downward. "So then—"

"I have chosen," she stated softly and without hesitation. "My choice is you."

His lashes lifted and there was moisture in his elven eyes—the sight so moving, tears gathered in her own. His hand brushed her neck, a caress so light she barely felt it. As a lone tear finally trickled onto her cheek, he leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers. A slow, lingering kiss, imbued with quiet devotion, with the gentle grace of Elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is an evil place to end this chapter. But fear not, the next one will pick up where it left off. ;-)


	53. Lying Here With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my readers and reviewers... Thank you! xox

**CHAPTER LIII**

**LYING HERE WITH YOU**

The moon was young this night. Framed by branches and leaves, it shone as a pale sliver of light against the inky sky. Because there were no dwellings or lamps at this height, the hidden _talan_ was bathed in secluding shadow. It was quiet. Restful. Precisely as Annalyn had hoped it would be.

Roughly an hour had passed since she and Haldir had climbed up here. Lying between thick furs, their clothed bodies nestled close together, they gazed at the heavens with heavy-lidded eyes. Their weapons lay nearby, and the ladder they had used to ascend the mallorn remained coiled by the opening in the platform, making it seem as though they were truly alone on top of the world.

To be sure, this day had been a whirlwind of emotions—from their heart-wrenching debate on the mound of Cerin Amroth, to the choice they had both made. Annalyn desired a life with him. And Haldir desired a life with her. A natural conclusion, it seemed. And yet, the ease with which she had made her decision startled her, too.

Perhaps they truly were meant to be.

"Tonight, at the feast," Haldir began after a long silence, his murmured words rumbling through his chest. "You were thinking of them." A kiss to her brow and he clarified, "Your kin."

Amazed by his ability to divine her innermost thoughts, Annalyn tilted her head to catch his eyes. "How did you know?"

He regarded her with gentle solemnity. "I saw it on your face. You miss them."

A sad smile curving her lips, she confirmed his observation by saying, "This evening was so very special. I cannot recall the last time I felt such joy." Her gaze fell a little. "I wished they could have been there with me."

As cherished memories unfurled in her mind, Haldir pulled her close. Presently, his arm cradled her back, his strong shoulder acting as her pillow. His heartbeat could be felt beneath her palm, the rhythm as peaceful as the rise and fall of his chest.

Thanks to their shared cocoon of heat, warmth suffused her body, even her feet—for the two had shed their boots prior to lying down. With her toes brushing against his shin, Annalyn pulled the furs a little higher, and drifted in contented relaxation until he spoke once more.

"I am sorry."

Her brows tightened in a puzzled frown.

Before she could ask him what he meant by that, Haldir said, "Would that I had been able to save them. Would that I had known what lay ahead when first you wandered into these woods."

The self-recrimination in his words took her aback. Her mouth hanging open, Annalyn seized his hand, and said, "I will forever grieve for my kin, and I curse the Orcs who took them from me. But the blame lies not with you. I do not regret the day we made camp in these woods. I do not regret the day I met you."

In lieu of replying, Haldir merely tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She pushed on.

"You once told me that I should cease blaming myself for straying from them the night those riders gave chase to us. Now I say the same to you. You did all you could. Not only did you save my skin out there, but you gave me the most precious gift I could ever hope for."

His features softened. "And what gift would that be?"

"The gift of your company. Your trust. Of knowing that there is kindness and honour left in this world. Because of you, I was not alone out there. And because of you, my people now know of the threat that lies beyond their borders. So while you weren't able to save my uncle or cousin, you saved my life, and certainly some of my people as well." Now she pressed a heartfelt kiss to the corner of his mouth. "This burden is not yours to bear. I will not allow it. Do not reproach yourself, Haldir of Lórien."

Whether he took comfort in her words, she could not say. Hoping to shift his focus, Annalyn angled her body until they were both lying face to face. The furs that cushioned her cheek were warm and soft, the air redolent with a heady combination of spices, cedar, and cloves—Haldir's scent.

Interlacing his fingers with hers, Haldir studied their hands for a moment. "Your cousin was quite protective of you." He kept staring at their hands. "I remember how he asked for a private word on that first night. I must say, his courage surprised me."

Annalyn's mouth quirked in sudden fondness. "What did he do?"

"Let's just say that he made it quite clear that he would guard you both with his life. He told me that he would honour this forest and follow my instructions, but if harm were to come to you…"

They both chuckled.

She said, "That was Aldin alright."

A moment went by, and then, "Your uncle was a kind man."

Her smile turned wistful. "That he was."

"I cannot help but wonder what they would have made of this? Of us being together."

She had sometimes wondered the same thing. "Had they had the chance to get to know you—truly know you, like I do—they would have given us their blessing. Of that I am certain."

His eyes narrowed in question. "That easily?"

Annalyn loosed a quiet laugh. "Alright, so Aldin might have given you a difficult time at first." Just to drive his point home. _If you so much as make her cry, you will answer to me_ , she could practically hear him say. "But he respected you. In time, I am certain he would have grown to love and admire you. He would have been happy for me."

"He was like a brother to you."

She gave a nod, but then her chest rose on a sigh. "Speaking of brothers… How do you reckon yours will take the news?"

Haldir pressed a kiss to her hand. "Orophin will be happy for me. The same for Ithriel." Though surely, they must have been worried, too.

"But Rúmil..." she went on to say. Met by silence, Annalyn said, "You need not shield me from the truth. I have known for some time now. Your brother is not overly fond of me."

Something flashed in his gaze, a note of anger, she thought. "Was he unkind to you?"

"No. Not really," she said at once. To set his mind at ease, Annalyn even touched his arm. "In fact, he has not said a word to me. But I saw him a fortnight ago at breakfast. The look he bestowed upon me left little doubt as to what he thinks about my being in your life."

Haldir's nostrils flared a little. His lips thinning in a line, he looked to the sky for a moment. "Rúmil should have guarded his thoughts." A beat went by. "I shall speak to him, and put an end to his meddling _—_ be it verbal or not _._ "

"No, please. It is not needful. I would hate to cause strife between the two of you. If anything, I understand why he feels the way that he does."

Haldir heaved a sigh. "You are more forgiving than I. In any case, must we speak of my brother this night?"

"No, we needn't speak of him."

Now he looked to her again, and the moment hung there.

Thus the spell was cast. His eyes darkened as he watched her.

Lost to the feelings he so easily evoked in her _—_ the butterflies in her stomach, and that churning heat in her core _—_ Annalyn cupped his face in her hands, while he remained silent under her regard. The two of them watching, waiting… succumbing.

Unhurriedly, his hand slid to the back of her head, causing her eyes to close. Without a word, he drew her to him. Before Annalyn knew it, Haldir's lips were on her hairline, his breath warming her forehead and scalp. The love and devotion that he poured into that one lingering kiss was devastating.

"You now know of our traditions, that it is our wont to wait a year before…" Haldir allowed the words to trail. He seemed to be holding his breath. "When you return from Rohan," he finally whispered against her hair. "Marry me?"

A blink of her eyes and he kissed her hairline again.

Although a wedded life seemed all but assured at this point, the fact that he did not wish to wait stunned her a little. A lot actually. When Annalyn failed to move or say anything, Haldir uttered her name in question. He waited. "Did I… Was this…" Though he was trying not to show it, his nervousness was palpable. Seemingly afraid that he had somehow ruined things between them, he explained, "Loving you… it is dizzying." His throat bobbed. "Annalyn, you should know th—"

"Yes."

His breath caught this time.

Annalyn angled her head to catch his eyes. "When I return, I will marry you." _Without hesitation_ , she almost added.

Time stood still for a moment. He made a sound that was part sigh part growl. " _Gi melin_ ," he exhaled and claimed her mouth.

* * *

It started with grazing touches, catching breaths, and soft warm kisses stolen here and there.

"Annalyn…" Her name was a veritable prayer on his tongue, one he would never tire of reciting. As her quickening breaths gusted against his parted lips, Haldir stole another smouldering kiss before drawing back so he could feast his eyes.

 _So fair_ , he thought as he beheld the woman who would soon be his wife.

Lying beneath his arm, Annalyn watched his face with unguarded longing, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Aching to touch and kiss her, Haldir marvelled at the picture she presented, at how right it felt to be with her like this. While they were both fully clothed, desire heated their blood.

Even now, Haldir wondered if he had imagined it. If his mind had tricked him, and he had somehow dreamt her words.

_Yes… When I return, I will marry you._

They were kissing again.

When her scent wafted to his nose, her warmth and softness more tangible than anything he had ever experienced, he latched on to the moment. This was definitely not a dream. It was real. And the sheer perfection of it vaulted him to new heights.

Though not surprising in the least, it hadn't taken very long for passion to assert itself. Especially now that they were up here, on his hidden _talan_ above everything and everyone, with only the leaves and the stars as their witness. Guided by their instincts, they cast themselves upon the wave, exulting in this newest and most thrilling chapter.

Annalyn wished to marry him. He wished to marry her. Sooner rather than later. As far as he was concerned, this made him the most fortunate male in all of Middle-earth—correction, the most fortunate being in all of Arda.

At present, her fingers were in his hair, her mouth tasting his as the two lay on their sides beneath the furs. His body responding in earnest, Haldir pulled her even closer, and wondered where they would draw the line tonight. How she tempted him.

By elvish standards, what they had, and where they now stood… They had gotten there fast. All the same, Haldir felt the rightness of it. Annalyn was meant to be his, and he was meant to be hers.

His hand splayed on her thigh, Haldir severed the kiss and leaned his forehead against her brow, where he drew in a ragged breath, then one more. "You bring me to my knees, Annalyn. I do not believe you realise the power you have over me."

She, too, was breathing hard, her eyes sparkling when she said, "You speak as though I have conquered you." The amusement in her voice could not be missed.

His mouth curving in a half-smile, Haldir couldn't smother the low growl that rose in his throat. "You have."

Before he could say or do aught else, she kissed him. As their mouths melded in a sensuous dance of lips, teeth, and tongues, his fingers somehow made their way to the leather tie that bound her hair. Moments later, he was running his digits through her chestnut waves—so rich and wild.

"Being parted from you…" Annalyn lamented between kisses. "My heart aches just thinking of it."

A wave of desperation seemed to wash over her—a twin to the misery he felt at the thought of her leaving. On the one hand, this made him desperate, and yet it calmed his ardour, too. Adrift on this strange dichotomy, Haldir ran the backs of his fingers down the length of her spine. Slowly. Reverently.

Since dawn was still a few hours away, he considered slowing things a little, taking his time. But his overwhelming need to worship her body took precedence. Hearkening to his commanding nature, Haldir assumed a more assertive role, and rolled them over in one smooth motion, until Annalyn was lying on her back, her hair fanned out around her.

As he trailed featherlight kisses down the column of her neck, Haldir sought her hands. Their interlaced fingers coming to rest just above her shoulders, he breathed in the soft, womanly scent of her.

A cool breeze swirled around their secluded haven just then, but it could not temper the heat that was now coursing through his veins. No mistake, Annalyn was driving him to utter distraction, her body arching beneath his, telling him that her need equaled or surpassed his own.

Haldir was spellbound, his heart thundering so loud as to drown out everything save the incredible woman beneath him. Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, he found that his hand was reaching for the stays at the front of her vest. The Valar help him, but his control was being tested. Right now, all he wanted was to feel more of her. Grasping one end of the knot, he made to pull but stopped himself.

As if sensing his hesitation, Annalyn hooked a finger beneath his chin, guiding him until their gazes connected once more. _What are you waiting for?_ her delighted features seemed to say.

Such a bold creature she was.

His eyes never leaving hers, he started undoing the stays of her vest, slowly and deliberately, until the fabric parted to reveal the woolen tunic beneath.

As heat shot straight to his groin, Haldir held her stare for a moment longer. Then, his gaze drifted downward.

His thoughts flashing back to the moment he had first laid eyes on her, he realised these were the same garments she had worn that day. He had failed to note it at the time, but he had been captivated even then. Now, though… Now, he was positively enthralled, beguiled by the enticing mounds beneath her tunic.

Her chest rising and falling, Annalyn clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, and waited to see what he would do. As badly as he desired to touch her, a part of him wished to appreciate every moment. And so Haldir caressed her neck, his fingertips brushing her throat and making her shiver. He liked that; he liked seeing how his touch affected her. Thinking of the various ways he might please her tonight, he leaned forth and narrowed the gap. Instead of claiming her mouth, however, he bent his head to press a gentle kiss to her temple, her cheek, her jaw.

The answering sigh she gave was as thrilling as the way she breathed his name. As he kissed the underside of her chin, Annalyn angled her face toward him. Her breath was now tickling the pointed shell of his ear, each exhalation sending blissful shivers across his skin.

A touch to his knuckles and he realised that she had sent her hand in search of his own. Raising his fingers to her beautiful mouth, Annalyn kissed each of them in turn, and seemed to love the way he lightly brushed her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

No longer able to help himself, Haldir lowered his hand until his palm met the soft mound of her left breast. As Annalyn gasped beneath his touch, his head fell forward. Eyes closed, he clenched his jaw and groaned aloud—a low and feral sound to match the smouldering need that was now pulsing throughout his body.

" _Firiel_ …" It was all he could do to control his breathing.

Tasting her mouth once more, he moulded the warm weight in his hand, and nearly fell into madness when he felt the hardening peak beneath the fabric. Cursing softly, Haldir momentarily released her breast so he could hitch her leg over his hip.

A whimper was his first reward. A low, feminine moan was his second.

As Annalyn undulated beneath him, he rocked into the cradle of her thighs, and silently cursed the fabric that yet separated them.

Two months… Two whole months until he could have her. Startling as it might be for an immortal Elf, that brief window now seemed like a _very_ long time.

* * *

Annalyn had decided; Haldir was temptation personified.

His taste, his scent, the weight of his body, not to mention that _friction,_ rhythmic but slow… all were conspiring against her, and soon she would lose the ability to think.

Doing her best not to cry out into the night, Annalyn chewed her lower lip, her head tilting to the side as he ground his hardness against her most sensitive area. _Sweet Mearas_ … Her blood afire, she raked her nails over his muscled back, first over his tunic, then clean under.

His back was impossibly smooth, the muscles beneath his skin exuding both grace and strength.

"Haldir…"

Swept by a sudden need to see his face, she reopened her eyes. At first, his face remained close to hers, their noses touching as they rolled their hips in tandem. But then, noting her stare, Haldir propped his weight on his arm.

Gracious, he was beautiful in starlight. But more than that, he made _her_ feel beautiful. Cherished. Wanted.

At present, his elven eyes were devouring her with undisguised need and love—so much love. Honestly, it took her breath away.

Thrilled and humbled at the same time, Annalyn guided his head back down, and promptly started nuzzling his ear. Haldir must have liked that, for his fingers suddenly curled into her thigh, anchoring himself as though he feared she might dissolve or fly away. Not that Annalyn was going anywhere.

Contrary to earlier, when he had touched her solely through her clothing, his right hand now ventured beneath her tunic, feathering along her sensitive waist, up toward her ribcage and higher still. When his warm hand finally cupped and shaped her breast—skin on skin this time—Annalyn could have wept at the rightness of it.

Haldir groaned at the contact, then he breathed something in elvish—a soft curse or an endearment, she could not say. Without letting go of her breast, he kissed his way down her body. Before she knew it, he had disappeared beneath the furs and was pressing soft open-mouthed kisses all around her exposed navel.

A shudder of surprise went through her, her breath leaving her lungs in a rush.

Wanting to see, Annalyn pushed the furs down until his golden head came into view. Haldir was on a mission, it seemed—a journey of hunger and discovery. When his lashes lifted and he met her gaze, his eyes were dancing, his mouth hinting at a smile as he kissed his way toward the laces of her breeches.

Her mouth went dry all of a sudden. Her heart threatening to burst out of her chest, Annalyn propped herself up on her elbow. Though she was no stranger to physical love, what he was doing, or planned to do, was entirely new to her. Wilmaer had never—

He did it. In a smooth and confident motion, Haldir pressed a firm kiss where she desired it most. This time, she couldn't quite stifle a cry. Her body was near to igniting, and he was loving every second of it; the gleam in his eyes told her as much. Without breaking the kiss, his lashes lowered once more. Soon, Haldir was breathing her in. A long, shuddering breath that nearly sent her over the edge. When he finally exhaled, she felt the warmth of it through her clothing. _Yes_...

His nose brushing against the front of her breeches, he crawled over her shivering body once more. "Cold?" he asked, and hauled the furs back up.

Annalyn shook her head no, for he was wrong. Her shivering had nothing to do with the vanishing cold. His body was all heat. _He_ was all heat. As her legs parted in invitation, Haldir settled between her thighs once more.

Seeing the delight on his face, the curious part of her won out. With her left hand to his shoulder, Annalyn prompted him to rise up on his arms. Her right hand, however, was far from idle. As she observed his face, her fingers gathered the front of his tunic before inching their way down his toned abdomen, tracing soft patterns as they ventured a little lower still. Down… down…

The moment she touched him through his breeches, the air rushed out of his lungs and he hung his head. His full lips were parted, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. The pleasure on his face was such a wonder to behold, Annalyn could not look away, nor did she want to. She was in trouble, she decided. Perfect, bone-melting trouble.

How long she stroked him, she had no idea. Even through fabric, his firmness strained and pulsed beneath her cradling hand. By touch alone, Annalyn knew he would be magnificent to behold.

And so, with love and fire in her veins, she pleasured him until he clasped her wrist and stilled her hand. His breath hissed and his body trembled. With closing eyes, Haldir clenched his jaw, and waited for the cresting sensation to subside. When his blood had calmed enough for him to move, he surprised her by laying alongside her.

A second later, his hand returned to her hip. "Turn around." A command, soft and sensual. With his front pressed to her back, Haldir pulled her close, and spoke against the nape of her neck, his voice scarce more than a rasp when he asked, "May I?"

His fingers were poised to undo the laces of her breeches. At her answering nod, he released the knot with agonizing slowness, then his hand was reaching in, his palm grazing its way toward the crux of her thighs.

"Long have I yearned to do this," he whispered reverently and found her center for the first time.

Their reactions were simultaneous—catching breaths followed by prolonged sighs.

"Annalyn… _ae_ …"

Through the fog of her arousal, Annalyn couldn't help but wonder if this was a new experience for him, touching a woman this way. Although he showed no hesitation, his fingers stroking and rousing with expert gentleness, something told her this was a first for him.

His first… She was going to be his first in almost every way. It made her life to know this _. If only I had waited_ , she thought to herself, but soon cast it from her mind. Tonight was not about the past. Rather, it was about her and Haldir, and the future they would build. Together.

 _Two months_ , she all but groaned in her head.

Haldir worked her gently that night, brining her to the brink time and time again. When she could no longer endure his merciless teasing, Annalyn begged with a whispered, "Please… please, Haldir…"

Ceding to her wish, he pleasured her until she was gasping for breath. Her womb clenched and quivered. She was going to—

"Look at me." His strangled voice somehow reached her pleasure-addled mind, and she did as he asked.

And just like that, her world exploded into a thousand blissful pieces, her body trembling with a depth of sensation she had not known until now. As Annalyn rejoiced with a soft cry of his name, Haldir watched her with singular focus, his eyes glazed over, his mouth slightly agape. At last, when those final rippling waves overtook her and her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the last thing she saw was the love and utter wonder on his beloved face.

* * *

* _Gi melin_ – "I love you."


End file.
